


What To Do When Your Kid's Real Dad Is A Serial Killer

by anotherfngrl



Series: Gil's Kid [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Co-parenting is hard, Cooking, Discipline, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Good Parent Gil Arroyo, Jello, Jessica is doing her best, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Spanking, Sunshine is a good birb, Sunshine is my favorite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 52,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23437939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherfngrl/pseuds/anotherfngrl
Summary: Gil loves Malcolm Bright like he was his own son. So when Malcolm gets fired from the FBI and comes home right as a copycat begins recreating his father's Quartet, there really isn't anything Gil can do but bundle him along for the ride and keep a close eye on him. The Whitleys will be the death of him yet!Warning: Will contain consensual spanking of an adult by a father figure.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Dani Powell, Gil Arroyo & JT Tarmel, Gil Arroyo & Jessica Whitly, Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly
Series: Gil's Kid [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681132
Comments: 64
Kudos: 101





	1. Reunited, And It Feels So Good

**Author's Note:**

> **Some of the dialogue from this chapter is taken from the show. I'm doing a kind of "what was going on in their heads" thing, we will see if it works! Let me know what you think!**
> 
> Okay, so I'm really doing this series! It will be a mix of scenes where I wanted to know, "What were they thinking?" and missing scenes, all tied into my father/son discipline verse. Sorry this one only has discussion of spanking, but this felt like the natural end point. I'll post another chapter soon!
> 
> Also, is there a community for this? Last time I wrote fic, livejournal was where it was at. Help me, I am new and very lost!! ♥️♥️

Gil's barely done filling out the consulting paperwork- it only needs Mal's signature- when they get the call. Another body, the same as the last two. It's officially gone serial.

"Good thing you found that profiler when you did," his boss tells him as Gil gathers up the team to head to the scene.

"We have a profiler now?" Dani asks, interested.

"Maybe. When we need him. Not sure I'll call him in for this," Gil hedges. He hasn't yet told them he recognizes the kills. Martin Whitley is behind bars. And he sure as  _ hell _ hasn't told anyone their new profiler is the Surgeon's son.

"Gil, man, if you aren't calling the profiler in for the weird ass serial murders, what  _ are _ you calling him for?" JT asks.

"We'll see," Gil tells them. "I'll meet you at the scene." It's just after noon- Malcolm and Ainsley should be on the path, by now.

"O-okay," JT shrugs. When Gil built his own team, he'd made sure to get cops who would call him on it if he got off track. People smart enough to work  _ with _ him, not just follow his instructions. Today, he wishes his team was a little less observant. They're going to eat Malcolm alive.

_ If _ he brings him in. He's leaning toward waiting, right now. Chances are, Malcolm is strung too tight for Gil to be bringing him anywhere near a copycat of his father's crimes. He wishes he could keep Ainsley away, too.

***

Malcolm walks out of the park on his own. Gil examines him from behind his sunglasses- Malcolm actually looks better than he expected. He's clearly enjoyed spending time with Ainsley, and he's not looking too tense, or overly manic. Maybe being home has given him a chance to relax.

"Bright!" Gil calls. Mal has worked hard to train his brain to respond to that name. It still feels odd, using it, but he's going to have to when they're working. 

The kid looks up, catching sight of him. Every cell in Malcolm's body freezes for a second, before he asks, tentatively, "Gil?" And  _ now _ he's tense. His whole body rocks back, as if he's considering running from his surrogate father. What the  _ hell _ is wrong with the kid?

"What are you doing here?" Malcolm asks softly.

"I heard you were back, city boy," Gil teases, taking off his sunglasses and pushing away from his car. "You know it's not nice to sneak back home and not tell your friends," he points out as he walks toward Malcolm, trying to push past the awkwardness. With Mal, unless he brings it up it's usually better to ignore the startle and just show him everything is okay.

"Oh, I have friends?" Malcolm asks, sardonic. He seems to have recovered from his surprise, and looks bolstered by Gil's casual warmth.

Gil laughs. His kid is wrestling with something big, yes, but he's going to be okay. "I missed you too, kid," he tells Malcolm, pulling him close. Mal hugs back hard, fingers gripping into Gil's jacket, before pulling back.

Gil doesn't let him go far. This hot/cold relief and fear thing he's doing can't be fun for the kid. Time to figure out what's wrong. He keeps a hand on the back of Malcolm's neck, rubbing, as the other man breaks the hug. He asks, "What's the matter? You've got that spooked puppy dog look going on."

Malcolm clearly knows what he means. He's just as clearly not ready to talk about it, so he deflects. "My sister just lied to me. Her autonomic tells always give her away."

Gil is unimpressed by the deflection. "A reporter lying? I can't believe it." Ainsley has been stretching her wings for the past few years. She's  _ usually _ keeping a secret, these days, but she does seem to know how far she can go without putting herself in danger.

"She didn't want me to know she's covering a murder," Malcolm tells him.

Well, shit. Ainsley's got the case. So Jessica and Malcolm are going to find out about the connection, either way. And if Ainsley is on the scene, there is  _ no chance _ of Malcolm staying home. The best thing he can do, at this point, is keep Malcolm close and brace for the fallout.

"Which… if she has a murder important enough to cover…" Malcolm hints, smiling hopefully.

Gil is already regretting this. "I've got a murder important enough to track down your crazy ass," he agrees reluctantly, like that was the plan all along. Malcolm won't forgive him for being overprotective. Not about this, not when he's just lost his only sense of stability and purpose. Gil is just going to have to get them though this, somehow. Jessica is going to  _ murder _ him.

Malcolm just watches him, hesitant. Right, he doesn't know for sure what Gil knows, yet. He's going to follow his surrogate dad's lead, for now.

"I need a profiler," Gil tells Malcolm. He makes it an invitation, smiles welcomingly. Malcolm hesitates, letting out a breath like he's trying to stay calm. Like he's scared. Gil is more and more worried about this plan, but it's too late to back out now. "C'mon," Gil says, patting his arm and turning toward the car.

"You know the FBI fired me, right?" The 'scared puppy' is wagging his tail, but it's still tucked under his body. The smile Malcolm gives isn't, 'I'm excited to do this,' it's 'Please don't be mad at me.'

They'll talk about that later. Malcolm is definitely in trouble- how much, Gil won't know until he hears his kid's side of things- but today is going to be hard enough.

"Good thing I'm NYPD. I told you you weren't an FBI guy. When're you going to learn to listen to me?" Gil asks him, keeping his tone light and teasing.

Malcolm gets the message. Gil's got him. Whatever happened out there, on his last case or at the FBI offices, it doesn't touch  _ them _ . Gil will bust his butt later, but nothing that matters has changed.

Malcolm gets in the car, but he's got one more worry. "Well… let's just not mention, umm…"

"That your dad's a serial killer?" Gil scoffs. "Don't worry, my lips are sealed." Everything he's heard says that, while Malcolm screwed up on the butcher arrest, the FBI really let him go because one of the Unit Chiefs has been looking for a reason, uncomfortable with the son of a serial killer solving crimes. It's the same guy who suspended him a year and a half ago, and honestly, Malcolm's conduct on  _ that _ case was bad enough to give a good cop doubts, and may be why the guy was so unwilling to trust him. Still, Gil is sure it's dredged up a lot of insecurities.

And with this case headed the way it is, there is no way in  _ hell _ Gil is risking anyone finding out Malcolm's family history. He's glad the kid changed his name- Malcolm makes awkward enough first impressions on his own.

"That too, obviously. But… I was thinking more like, can we not tell them my dad's the Lieutenant," Malcolm says quietly. He sits back, tense but trying to appear relaxed, as he waits for Gil's reaction.

"Worried they'll think it's all nepotism?" Gil asks. Mal relaxes when he sees that Gil isn't offended- and how could he be? Malcolm doesn't call him 'dad' often, but it always melts him more than he'd like to admit when the kid does. "Don't worry, kid, once they see you in action nobody's going to think that, even if they find out."

Malcolm's just been fired in part because of who his father is. It's really no surprise he doesn't want to be hired for who his dad is, right after. Still, they've only ever worked together once before, but Malcolm's work spoke for itself, even if Gil  _ is  _ a little biased. "I'd call you based on the Strangler if I heard you were in town even if we'd never known each other outside of work," Gil tells him. " _ That's _ what I told my boss when I got the approval for a consultant. Not 'my kid's home and I want to bring him along for old times sake.' You're good at this, kid. Really good."

"Wait, this is, like, official?" Malcolm asks, surprised and pleased.

"Told the brass I needed a profiler, and I happened to know a damn good one who was free. I think you're sitting on your consultant paperwork," Gil tells him.

Malcolm wiggles around to get the black leather folio he hadn't noticed in the seat when he sat down. "How  _ did _ you know I was free?" he asks, but he sounds curious, not scared, thankfully. He's already settling in.

"Just because this is a multi- parent household doesn't mean your mother and I don't talk, kid. I happen to think we co-parent quite effectively," he teases, glad to see Malcolm looking more at home.

"Ainsley told her we were getting coffee," Malcolm realizes, putting together the last of the pieces on how Gil found him. He raises an eyebrow when he sees that Gil's filled out his paperwork for him, signing where he needs to. 

"You  _ are _ good," Gil tells him. "Save some of that profiler mojo for the case. We're almost here."

"Anything I should know about the team?" Malcolm asks.  _ This _ kind of nervous, Gil can handle. This is 'First Day of School' nervous, not 'Did I Screw Up So Bad Gil Doesn't Love Me Anymore' nervous.

"I picked every member. I've been mentoring Dani since she came out of Vice. She's tough, but she's good people. Reminds me a little of Jackie. JT is my second. He's the partner I trust to shut me down if I'm on the wrong track. No nonsense, but a good guy and a great cop," Gil tells him.

"I can work with that," Malcolm decides. JT is going to hate the kid, at first. But Gil's sure that, if Malcolm decides to stay in NYC, they'll all find their footing soon enough. "About the other thing…" he asks.

"We'll talk about what happened in Tennessee later," Gil says. "Might be better to stow it until we catch this guy- I don't want you nervous all case that I'm about to read you the riot act."

"I'm less worried about the riot act than the spoon," Malcolm admits, but he's relaxing. As long as he knows Gil  _ knows _ , Malcolm is comfortable waiting for his surrogate dad to handle things. It's a level of trust Malcolm doesn't extend to anybody else, and Gil accepts it with a determination to do what's best for Mal, even when it's hard.

"It's been hanging in my kitchen nearly thirty years, it'll still be there when we finish this," Gil assures him. "That doesn't mean it won't make an appearance sooner if you go off the deep end on this case," he warns.

"You know I'm not in great shape, to have punched the Sheriff. And you know getting fired was hard for me. Plus, I left New York for a reason. So I'm probably a little… twisted up right now. And you'll be watching me. You aren't grounding me, but you are keeping me on a short leash. And half the reason you're going ahead and inviting me onto this case is so you can keep an eye on me, since you can't take off a couple of days to get me sorted out right now," Malcolm profiles them both easily.

"You got it." Gil parks the car, then impulsively wraps a hand around the back of Malcolm's neck and pulls him close, kissing the top of his head. "I got you, kid."

"Always do." Malcolm smiles brightly as he gets out of the car and they go to find the team.


	2. Copycats and Cops and Caring Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm meets the team and finds out the secret Gil was dreading revealing. Luckily, he has Gil to get him through it. Less luckily, Gil expects him to play nice with JT.
> 
> Warning: consensual, father/son spanking in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been so amazingly welcoming and supportive!!! I'm having so much fun writing.
> 
> The rooftop scene from the pilot appears here, so remember: any dialogue that is familiar isn't mine, I'm just looking into their heads. There's discussion of Jessica's visit to the loft, but we don't see it happen. This is the visit to the crime scene through when Malcolm gets to work that night.
> 
> Also, I'm going to have to go back and tag for Sunshine, because I love her.

Gil sees the exact moment Malcolm realizes what he's looking at. His head drops, his entire body looking defeated. He recites what they can expect to find so blankly Gil worries he's disassociating. He never should've brought Mal here.

The folder Bright slams into his chest on his way out hits Gil like a ton of bricks. Betrayal is clear in every line of Malcolm's body, and Gil doesn't know how he ever thought this was a good idea. He just hopes he hasn't totally fucked his kid up.

Dani and JT look nonplussed as Malcolm walks out. "What's his problem?" Dani asks.

"Some cases stick with you," Gil says carefully.

"Yeah, but wasn't the Surgeon  _ your _ first big bust? That guy can't have been out of elementary school when he was caught," JT points out.

So many potential answers pop into his head, "Yeah, but he's still the one who caught him," or, "The kid saved my life that night," but he promised Malcolm he wouldn't reveal the family connection. Either of them. So instead he just says, "I should go check on him."

In the hall, he pauses to consider where Malcolm has gone. Is Mal panicking? Going to ground? Or is he mostly mad at Gil? If he's mad at Gil, he'll have stuck around so they can have it out. Gil takes a gamble and heads up to the roof. Malcolm is freaking out, he won't want to be around too many people. But he's definitely too mad at Gil to leave without a confrontation.

"Bright, are you okay?" Gil asks. He doesn't pause for an answer, explaining, "I worried about bringing you in. I didn't want to wake up any old demons but I had to be certain that he was copying your dad."  _ And that, if Martin has a copycat, I was with you when you found out, _ Gil adds silently. Malcolm can't handle hearing that, right now. That Gil is worried, that he's sorry, that he's trying to do the right thing here but it's like walking through landmines.

Malcolm learned young that father doesn't always know best. He learned not to trust people in a home where lies had a body count under the perfect family facade, and internalized the lesson when he made his own choice and saved Gil, that night. But Mal still struggles with the idea that 'good' parents fuck up, too. It definitely contributes to his complex relationship with his mother. She isn't perfect- she struggled  _ a lot _ with the trial, and being the wife of the Surgeon. Malcolm tends to, in his most irrational moments, take those failures as proof she's never really loved him. When he was a kid, it had sometimes been a struggle to convince him that just because his mother was having a hard time didn't mean she loved him any less than Jackie did.

The kid's always had Gil on a pedestal. He's what a dad should be like, in Malcolm's mind. And Malcolm always finds excuses for him, when he falls short, because he can't bear the idea that Gil is just a man, doing his best. Gil figures it's because Malcolm has built him up as the hero in his memory, and he needs to believe Gil is good and strong enough to protect him from anything.

Which makes this the worst possible moment to get it all wrong. Malcolm needs someone to turn to now more than he has in years, and here's Gil, throwing him into situations that are just going to re-traumatize him.

"Don't worry, my demons don't sleep," Malcolm tells him, and the words cut straight through Gil, because he knows exactly how true they are. They're on the roof- there are other cops around. The last thing Gil wants to do is make Mal more uncomfortable, so he resists the urge to touch him- in this state, Malcolm may either flip into fight or flight mode or go completely jelly on him if he tries, and the profiler won't thank him for either.

"Look, I can only imagine what you must be feeling right now," Gil says, deciding that, cops or no cops, he's got to get Malcolm to talk.

But his surrogate son cuts him off. "The killer is copying the Quartet," he tells him firmly. The message is clear.  _ Work only _ . Gil winces as Malcolm continues, "A series of four murders my father committed in '92." 

Gil knows that. He remembers the week Malcolm learned about them. His nightmares had taken on an element of sleep paralysis, and Gil had sat up with him for a week, sleeping in shifts with Jackie and Jessica, rotating between two of them alternating with Mal at one end of the Milton home while the other slept a full night and got Ainsley to school the next morning. That was when Malcolm had permanently gone off of sedatives, convincing his parents that if he wasn't going to get any real rest anyway, it was better for him to be able to wake up.

But Malcolm isn't telling him this because he needs to know. He's telling him because the facts are grounding him. So Gil tells him, "We've only had three."

It's damning, he knows. They both know there's no way Gil didn't figure it out after the second body, and yet he kept moving forward, brought Mal here, of all places.

"The killer isn't finished," Malcolm tells him, sounding almost amused. Gil knows Malcolm isn't amused at the idea of people dying. He's just fatalistically entertained by the realization of what a mess they've landed in.

They both knew that already, too, so neither of them has anything to add for a long moment. They look down, too on edge to risk eye contact. Gil sees the way Malcolm is flexing his hand and shaking it out, squeezing a fist- trying anything to stop the tremor. He's not succeeding.

"Have you spoken to him?" Gil asks suddenly. It's an accusation- he will absolutely have Malcolm's  _ hide _ if he went to Claremont without telling him. Malcolm knows it, too.

"Nooooo," Malcolm assures him, elongating the 'o' sound. "Not in ten years. And I can't go back there, Gil, I can't go back to him," Malcolm says, almost pleading. Like Gil would ever send  _ his _ kid back to that monster. Like Mal honestly thinks Gil would  _ allow _ him to put himself through that again, for a case.

"It wasn't a healthy relationship," Malcolm tells him, parroting what Gabrielle has been telling him for years. Funny, Malcolm never listened back then. Today, it sounds like a condemnation- not of Martin, but of Gil.

"I'm not asking you to," Gil says, shaking his head in instinctive denial. "But I've got a serial killer on my hands and you're telling me he's not done," Gil says, trying to get them back on an even keel. He reminds himself that finding out about the copycat was going to be traumatic no matter when or where it happened. It's not  _ completely _ his fault Malcolm is upset.

Malcolm looks at him for a long moment, looking almost… disappointed. Then, he resigns himself to it and says, "Okay." He nods, like he's deciding something. "I'll get started on a profile." And turns and walks away.

Gil is momentarily baffled. He  _ drove _ the kid, where the hell is Malcolm going? Presumably back to the loft. He'll hail a taxi or call a car. Gil isn't worried about Malcolm's ability to get home safe, physically. He  _ is _ worried about the kid's mental state, and him wandering the streets like this. He's also worried that, as much as he wanted to be with Malcolm when he found out about the copycat, to soften the blow, letting him figure it out for himself has done more harm than good.

The reason Gil hadn't verbalized the connection between these murders and the ones in '92 is because he desperately wanted to be wrong. He hoped Malcolm would notice something that took them on a totally different path with the investigation, and the words 'The Surgeon' would never have to enter the discussion. And because he was afraid to face it, he let Malcolm get blindsided.

Gil spends a good ten minutes standing on the roof, beating himself up. But he can't wallow in self castigation all day- he's got to go check on his kid. He winces- he's pretty sure that, in private, Malcolm is going to be even more volatile and justifiably angry.

He heads back downstairs to see how things are going with the investigation. The body is being packed up, and Dani and JT seem to be wrapping up. Gil doesn't need to see anymore, himself- this one is already burned into his memory.

"What the  _ hell _ is with that guy?" JT asks when Gil comes back.

"He was caught off guard. I didn't warn him about the copycat," Gil explains.

"You knew?" Dani asks.

"I suspected, with the last one. I wanted to be wrong," Gil confesses.

"No, I get that. But why the hell did he come back in here after you two's little spat and  _ act out the murder _ ? You said he's familiar with the original killer. Has anybody made sure our profiler and our perp aren't the same guy?" JT pushes.

"Pretty sure. He was in Tennessee catching a guy who was  _ literally butchering people _ when the second vic dropped. And he's good people. He's a little weird, but he's good," Gil tells his team.

"Whatever you say," JT says doubtfully.

"There's nothing we can do till we get the ME's report and hopefully the profile. Everybody go home, get some sleep," Gil tells them.

"Drop me home?" Dani asks. "JT drove."

"Sure," Gil agrees. It'll give Mal some time to hopefully calm down before Gil shows up to check on him.

In the car, Dani asks, "This profiler guy, you've worked with him before, haven't you?"

"He's the best," Gil tells her shortly. Even before he knew this case was connected to his father, Malcolm walked in practically determined to alienate the team- which is something he'll have to talk to the kid about, later. But for now, he needs to do what damage control he can.

"You trust him," Dani realizes. "Not just his work, you trust him. That's why you told me he's an acquired taste, you want me to like him too and you knew he wasn't gonna make a great impression."

"He didn't," Gil says wryly.

"I don't know, it was definitely memorable. I've never seen somebody on our side get JT riled that easily. Or get away with slamming into you like that," Dani observes.

"He and JT will needle each other for a while, but they're both good cops and I think they'll work it out. The thing with me… it's complicated. Bright had a very good reason to be pissed at me," Gil admits.

"This guy better be a superstar, as obnoxious as he is. And I don't care how good he is, he'd better start showing you some respect or we're gonna have a problem," Dani decides.

"Cut him a little slack, would you? He's a good kid," Gil tells her. Dani and Mal truly at odds, not just Dani being mildly annoyed, is a complication he had not considered, and it's not one he wants to add to this mess. He wishes he could tell her what Malcolm means to him, ask her to look out for his kid as a favor to  _ him _ , but he's done enough to shake Mal's trust in him today- he can't share that secret.

***

Once he's dropped Dani off, Gil heads straight for the loft. Luckily, the lights are on. He's relieved- he'd worried Malcolm would be doing something crazy, like trying to work in his dad's old office. He makes an executive decision and lets himself in instead of knocking.

Mal is pacing his open living area, Sunshine on his shoulder. He seems to be arguing animatedly with the bird. "It's  _ exactly _ like the FBI! He doesn't care if it bothers me. He thinks I think like him too!  _ I AM NOT MY FATHER! _ " Malcolm flings the leather notebook and pens off the kitchen island, startling Sunshine into flying away, safely above him and out of range.

"No," Malcolm whines, looking up at her. "Not you, too. I need  _ somebody _ on my side, Sunshine, c'mon. I'm sorry!"

"I think you've got plenty of people on your side, kid," Gil tells him from the stairs.

Malcolm turns on him, furious. "How  _ dare _ you. I'll have your stupid profile done by morning. GET OUT!!" He roars the last of it, advancing on Gil.

"Oh, screw the profile. I could not care  _ less _ about the profile right now," Gil tells him, sharpening his tone. Mal wants a fight? Well, apparently he's going to get one.

Malcolm laughs, sounding hysterical. Sunshine chirps concernedly above him and returns to her cage. "You don't care about the profile? You dragged me out to a  _ copycat of my father _ , and you don't even care about the profile?"

"I didn't mean," Gil sighs. "Of course I care about the profile. Just not compared to how much I care about  _ you _ ."

Malcolm turns on him, suddenly despondent. "Then why bring me there? Why make me see that?"

"I knew you were going to find out. Ainsley's reporting on the case. And… I wanted you to find out with me. So you weren't alone. I wanted you profiling for us, but I wasn't sure this was the project to bring you in on. I thought- I  _ hoped _ having the profile to focus on would give you some perspective, and distance," Gil explains.

"You want me to have some perspective? My father is a fucking serial killer and you want me to have  _ perspective _ ? Well, here's some perspective for you," Malcolm spits, furious, "You're supposed to be the one person I can trust, and you- you-"

Gil never finds out how that sentence was going to end, because he can't stand there and watch his kid suffer anymore. He steps towards Malcolm and pulls him into a hug, and the kid sinks into him. "I'm sorry, kid. I'm so sorry. I've got you," he tells him, feeling the way Malcolm goes limp, like the indignation that's been fueling him has run out.

Mal grips the arms of Gil's jacket, holding on desperately. "There's another one, Gil. There's somebody out there just like him, who wants to be him.  _ I don't want to be like him, Gil, I DON'T! _ " Malcolm tells him.

Gil is shocked.  _ That's _ what the kid thinks is going on? He tugs Mal toward the couch. "Shh, kid, of course not. Come sit with me, let's figure this out."

Malcolm allows himself to be led to the sofa, sinking against Gil. Gil is pretty sure it's not that Malcolm is any less angry with him now, just that the kid is done in. He wraps a hand around the back of Mal's neck, holding him close and anchoring him.

"Nobody thinks you're trying to be like Dr. Whitley," Gil tells him.

Malcolm snorts, openly disdainful. " _ Plenty _ of people think that, Gil. That's why I got fired."

"See, the way I heard it it had something to do with punching a Sheriff," Gil tells him.

"That was an excuse to get rid of me," Mal groans.

"They let other agents go around punching the LEO's? Who are elected officials?" Gil asks, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I want you working for an outfit like that, anyway."

"Mulder gets away with it," Malcolm pouts.

"Does he?" Gil asks noncommittally. "That's the difference in hunting aliens in a TV show and hunting serial killers in real life, I guess. You're both genius profilers but only one of you gets to punch cops."

"You said we weren't doing this until the case was over," Malcolm groans, pushing ineffectually at Gil's shoulder.

"I said I wasn't going to bust your butt for it till the case was over. Not gonna pretend it didn't happen if you bring it up," Gil corrects him gently, capturing the hand shoving at him and holding it in his own, firmly enough to contain the tremor. "Is that part of what had you so wound up today?" he asks softly.

"Gil, it's a  _ copycat of my dad _ . Do I really need another excuse to be on edge? And kind of an asshole?" The last is added reluctantly. Mal hates fighting with him, Gil knows. Already, he's backtracking, needing to know they're okay.

"Well, I didn't hear what you called me after you left, so unless Sunshine tells, you're in the clear on that one. You were mad at the scene, but you didn't cross any lines with me," Gil reassures him.

"Didn't mean it, anyway," Malcolm grumbles. Sunshine has apparently decided it's safe, and when Gil said her name she left her cage, flying over to perch on her boy's shoulder. "I know you love Gil, Sunshine. But don't tell on me, okay?" he asks, stroking her feathers with the hand Gil hasn't got ahold of.

"Malcolm, we do need to talk about this. I didn't bring you in because I think you're in any way like your father," Gil assures him.

"You knew I'd figure it out, if Ainsley's going to break the murders. Even if you kept the copycat link out of the press, I'd realize it. And given my less than stellar stress reactions, you wanted to keep an eye on me when it happened. But that's not all." Malcolm has that wild 'out of his head and in the subject's' look in his eyes, and Gil tenses, a little afraid of what the kid has figured out and what he'll think of it.

"You… you actually need my help. Not because there aren't other profilers, other cops who can figure this out- maybe not as fast as you and me, but they'll get there. You can't work this case not knowing I'm okay," Mal realizes.

Gil blows out a long breath. "It was either keep you close and in the dark or rip off the Band-Aid," he admits. "I should've prepped you in the car. New people, new situation, plus all this? I never should've sent you in cold. But I was hoping I was wrong."

"You knew," Malcolm agrees. "You knew, and you didn't plan on telling me. This wasn't Gil Arroyo parenting with a plan. This was you improvising because Ainsley is going to break the secret."

"I was going to bring you in on something else. Anything else, you'd be a real asset. But we got the call for the third body while I was on my way out the door to find you," Gil admits.

"You don't think I'll be an asset on this?" Mal asks, sitting back, away from Gil.

"I'm not sure it's worth it, what it'll do to you," Gil admits.

"Gil, you love me, so you're prioritizing my needs above the potential victims. But I'm your best chance of catching the guy," Mal points out bluntly.

"That doesn't give me the right to ask you to-" Gil argues.

"To  _ use _ the nightmares inside my brain for something good? Why not? I've heard about the Quartet  _ from The Surgeon _ . He didn't do interviews, he dodged all their questions during the trial. I am the  _ only person alive _ who knows what he was thinking." Malcolm stands up, impassioned. "The damage is done, Gil. Let me do this!"

Gil stands to face him. "Okay, okay. I hear you. This is important, you're right. And I trust your judgement. If you think you can stay objective, at least enough to profile our guy, not your father, you can stay on it."

"I need to do this," Malcolm tells him.

"I knew you'd say that, the second you knew," Gil admits.

"And you knew you'd give in," Malcolm says triumphantly.

"I am. But there are going to be rules," Gil tells him.

"When aren't there?" Malcolm snarks.

Gil glares. "You get some leeway right now because I botched telling you, but watch the attitude."

"Rule one: usual rules apply," Malcolm deduces in agreement.

Gil nods. "Rule two: You stick to the case today, not the one in '92. Focus on why and how this guy is copying your dad, not your dad himself."

"Good advice," Malcolm admits reluctantly. "He doesn't know what I know about the Surgeon's inner workings. What did he see from the outside?"

"Exactly. Rule three: You don't work alone. You stay with me or one of my team every second you're working this thing," Gil says.

"Give me tonight to profile. I need to do it, and I need to do it without you. I can  _ feel _ how worried you are, I won't be able to get into his head," Malcolm counters.

"Tonight. Any other late night work sessions you come over," Gil capitulates.

Malcolm shakes his head. "You come here," he requests. "I don't want anything about Martin Whitley touching home. It's the only place he  _ doesn't  _ haunt me. As much, anyway," he admits.

"That's fair. But it means you have to let me know if you need me to come over," Gil warns.

"You'll eviscerate me if you find out I didn't," Mal agrees, knowing it's true.

"Nah, but you'll wish I had when I'm done with you," Gil assures him.

"Anything else?" Malcolm asks. He's buzzing with energy, pent up need to do  _ something. _

"You're a consultant. So you let us go in first. You can help question,  _ at my discretion _ , but you wait for permission," Gil tells him.

"As long as you don't let  _ Johnathan Taylor Thomas _ question anyone without me," Malcolm grouses. "He's an idiot."

"He is not. You just decided to hate him before he could hate you. Which reminds me- you be polite to JT or we  _ will _ discuss your attitude. You don't have to like him, but I expect you to work with him," Gil scolds. "I know today you were upset about the copycat, but you can't antagonize my team like that, Mal. You aren't getting on a plane across the country at the end of this case, you need to be able to work with them."

"Don't  _ do _ that!" Malcolm growls at him, surprising him with the intensity of his reaction. Gil reminds himself he had known Malcolm was still wound up- he's relieved his kid is letting some of what's still bothering him out.

"Don't do what?" he asks carefully.

"Make excuses for me. I was rude to JT before I examined the body. You say you're going to keep me on a short leash, and protect me from myself. You know how I get. I can come up with an excuse for  _ anything _ . Don't make excuses for me, Gil. I need you not to let me spin out," Mal pleads.

"You're right. I'm feeling guilty because I knew how upset you were  _ about _ to be when you showed up. But that has nothing to do with what you did. You were rude to JT from the moment you walked in the door," Gil scolds. He's starting to understand what his kid needs, right now.

"He's a jackass. Mr. Cool Guy, he couldn't find a suspect in a jail cell!" Malcolm grumbles.

"He's a good cop. I told you I hand picked him because I trust him," which is, Gil is sure, most of what has Malcolm mad in the first place, "and of course he was rude to you, you walked in and immediately called him a necrophiliac! You know better than to talk to your coworkers that way, Malcolm Charles."

He uses Mal's middle name to warn him what's about to happen. The kid obviously gets it. "No, Gil, come on, I've had a bad day!" Malcolm tries. "You brought me to see a copy cat of the Quartet!"

Gil sees the manipulation for what it is. "And your behavior today is something I've talked to you about before. More than once. You do not pick fights before somebody else can, or because you're scared of what they're going to think of you," he scolds firmly.

"Gil, no!!! You can't," Malcolm pleads. Gil ignores him, walking over to sit on his kid's unmade bed. He pushes a restraint aside. 

"Are you going to come here, or did you want extra for refusing?" Gil asks placidly.

"Nooooo, please!" Mal begs. Sunshine flits around him nervously.

"Right now, you're lucky we're here not at home with the spoon. You've already earned yourself extra spanks, if I were you I'd put Sunshine in her cage and come here, before I decide to go looking for your hairbrush since I don't have the spoon," Gil warns.

That galvanizes Mal into action. The few times Gil spanked him at the Milton house, he'd used a hairbrush, and Malcolm  _ hates _ it. He coaxes Sunshine into her cage, petting her reassuringly, then comes reluctantly to stand by Gil.

He's thinking Malcolm really needs him to take charge today, and getting him ready for the spanking himself will hopefully settle the kid a little. Mal took his jacket off when he got home, so now Gil tugs him by the belt to stand between his legs, unfastening his kid's pants instead of letting Mal do it for himself.

"Gilllll," Mal whines, but he stands obediently still, clenching and flexing his fingers, as Gil pulls down his pants, tipping the kid over his lap.

He shifts Malcolm until his backside is centered over Gil's left knee, his upper body resting on the bed and his legs hanging free. Malcolm squirms a little, but stays where he's been put.

"What did you do to earn this spanking?" Gil asks.

"I was rude to your precious lap dog," Malcolm grouses.

"And we're going to add being disrespectful during your spanking to the list," Gil tells him firmly, landing the first swat.

The warm up is designed to be exactly that- a warm up, and by far the mildest part of the spanking. So his hand moves steadily from spot to spot, lighting up Malcolm's bottom with firm, but not overly hard, slaps.

Maybe it's because Gil is handling him the way he did when he was young, or maybe Mal just needs to release some of his pent up feelings, but Malcolm reacts more like he did as a preteen than how he usually does as an adult. He whines and squirms, making it clear he's feeling the punishment. There's absolutely no attempt at mature stoicism today, and Gil is glad- his kid needs an outlet.

Gil still spends a couple of minutes thoroughly warming up his bottom before tugging down Malcolm's briefs. The pink cheeks before him are surely stinging fiercely, but they've got a ways to go yet.

He lands another, harder slap without hesitation, watching Malcolm jerk reflexively with the blow. "Why were you being so rude to JT?" Gil asks him, giving him another spank as he waits for a response.

"Owwww," Malcolm whines. "Cops like that always hate profilers. I'm not a tough guy like him, oooooh not there, Gil, please!" he begs in response to a few solid slaps to his sit spots, "but I'm  _ smart _ , AHHH!" apparently Mal doesn't like spanks to the middle of his cheeks any better, "and I had to show him!!" Malcolm twists and kicks as Gil continues to spank.

"There's a difference in being smart and being a smartass, Malcolm. And you were on the wrong side of it," Gil scolds. His son yelps miserably as Gil's hand falls again and again over tender flesh.

"Sorry, oooh, sorry, Gil! I'm sorry I was ohhhhh was rude!" Malcolm tells him. He's sounding decidedly teary.

Normally, such over the top rudeness would've meant a session with the spoon, and he would've left Mal significantly sorer. But the kid was overwrought before they began, and he's earned a serious dose of always hated "extras". So Gil lightens his spanks, ready to wrap up. He'll give Mal enough quick, light little stingers to his sit spots that he'll be thinking of this lesson every time he shifts as he works on the profile, and he'll call it done.

He starts with the bottom of the kid's right cheek, barely lifting his hand as he works on the one cheek, fingers landing in light little slaps that make Mal yelp, over and over in the same spot. He knows sticking to one spot will magnify the sting, and he can make it a sharp lesson without being severe.

He's caught off guard when Malcolm's hand shoots out to block him. "No more!! Somewhere else, Gil, please!" Malcolm sobs.

Gil gathers the hand up regretfully. "You don't try to stop your spanking, Malcolm," he scolds, giving him a hard slap on his right thigh.

" _ That is not better! _ " Malcolm hollers, kicking.

"It's not supposed to be, kid. It's discipline. The extras are meant to be worse," Gil tells him as he spanks. He's sticking to just the very tops of Malcolm's thighs, for now, giving him a few good, hard whallops on each leg.

Malcolm is actually struggling, not just kicking his feet but pulling against Gil's hold on his arm, trying to get away. Gil is briefly concerned, worried Malcolm is far too upset, and that something is really wrong.

"No, Gil, no don't,  _ I don't want any more!! _ " Malcolm yells, which might be the most ridiculous thing he's ever said while over Gil's knee, and he suddenly gets it.

Malcolm is overwhelmed. His whole life has been turned upside down, and he's actually handling it remarkably well. He's coping with the changes he can't avoid, and Gil is proud of him for that.

But Malcolm is finally  _ safe _ , over his knee. He knows exactly how this goes, and that Gil can handle him. So he's taking this opportunity to throw the outrageous fit he wants to throw at the universe, where he knows the worst it will get him is a sore behind.

With that in mind, Gil figures the best thing he can do is keep spanking and let Mal get it all out. So he switches back to the technique the kid had objected to on his sit spots, focusing on the tops of his thighs this time: quick, light little stingers that he can keep up as long as Mal needs to fight, that won't leave him too sore to stand the rest of the extras he's already earned at the end of this spanking.

Mal  _ hates _ it. He kicks and twists, yelling, "Stop it stop it stop iiiiiit!" And Gil ignores him and just keeps spanking.

Eventually, Malcolm goes from yelling at him in frustration to whining. "It's not fair! Even when I do everything right, people hate me, why should I have to be good if they don't?"

Gil sighs. He hates how Malcolm's sensitive spirit is constantly wounded by a world that just doesn't understand him- and he knows this is about more than the disagreement with JT.

"The rest of the world aren't my responsibility, Mal, but you're my kid and I expect better from you," Gil scolds, and Malcolm's breath catches in a sob that sounds more heartbroken than furious.

"I hate it, Gil. It hurts and I hate it," Mal cries, and Gil knows somehow that he doesn't mean the spanking. He slows the spanks and moves back up from Mal's poor, punished thighs to his red bottom.

"The world isn't built for people like you, Mal. People don't know, they don't understand. It's always a little harder for you, I know, and I'm sorry. But my team isn't the world- they're my people. I trust them, enough to bring you in. If you give them a chance, I think you'll be surprised," he promises. He wishes Mal had met Edrisa- he's sure they'll get along. He wishes he'd introduced the kid to his team the last time he visited, so Mal wasn't walking in cold after such a rough week.

He stops spanking, letting his hand fall lightly to rest on Malcolm's backside. They're done, except for the extra spanks he earned at the beginning of the punishment. But they need to finish this, first.

"I already ruined it," Malcolm cries. "I was rude and confron- confrontational and I don't really want them to hate me, Dad! I don't want everyone to hate me," he sobs. Mal is careful of that word- Dad. He used it for so long for someone secretly terrible, he usually tries to avoid using it for Gil. But the feeling is always there, and occasionally the name slips out.

"Well, I love you," he assures the kid.

"Not- not the same, you have to," Malcolm tells him balefully. Gil can't help grinning at the resentful, sulky frown thrown his way. It took a long time for Mal to believe that Gil wasn't going anywhere. Sometimes, neither of them remembers it was ever even a choice.

"Tomorrow is a new day. Try again. You haven't met the ME yet- play nice, don't try to show her up. I think you two will be good friends. And Dani was really only annoyed you were so disrespectful to me. Be good, and she'll give you a shot. You may have to work harder with JT, but he'll come around," Gil assures him. He's surprised when his reassurance makes Mal cry harder.

"I'm sorry, sorry, Gil! I didn't think, I was so mad, so stupid, I didn't think, I was so rude to you!" Malcolm sobs regretfully. "Walked- walked out and might as well hit you, smacking you with the folder!"

"Hey. Hey, kid, calm down. I told you earlier you didn't cross any lines with me. Dani didn't know why you were mad. I did, and I thought you did a good job handling those feelings. That was a lot of big stuff to handle, and you kept it together. I'm proud of you, kid," Gil assures him. He pats the kid's sore bottom reassuringly, wishing they were done.

"Are we finished, then?" Mal asks him tearily. The kid knows it's unlikely Gil just stopped, mid spanking.

"If you hadn't earned extras, we would be," Gil tells him, genuine regret in his voice. His kid is sorry- he's learned his lesson, and gotten out his wound up feelings. But Gil never lets him off the hook for a spanking he's earned, and he can't start now. Mal needs that bedrock of predictability.

"Oh no!" Mal puts his head down and cries, miserable.

Mal broke some of the cardinal rules of spankings, today, so this isn't just going to be a couple of token smacks. Gil pats the red bottom over his lap regretfully, telling him, "Shift forward a little."

Mal whimpers as he does. He's sore and sorry and miserable, and Gil just wants to hug him. The kid has just been through a spanking, and now he's facing more punishment, on top. On even more sensitive spots. 

Malcolm got exactly what his Dad intended, and he's shifted himself so his thighs are centered over Gil's left knee, pushed up. There's a little strip of skin between where the regular spanking fell and the extras he earned already for reaching back that stands out bright white against the red flesh on either side- usually that area is protected by the curve of Malcolm's backside. Now, it's pushed forward, inviting slaps where Gil knows it will hurt the worst.

Knowing Mal is going to come undone, and not wanting to add more to what's going to be a hard punishment already, Gil says, "Give me your hands."

He's made Malcolm put his hands behind his back for a belting before, if the kid was really wound up and Gil was worried he'd reach back and get hurt. But he's never done it for a hand spanking, and it clearly throws Mal.

"Why?" he asks, still crying quietly. He also doesn't obey.

"You're a wreck, kid. I  _ really _ don't want to have to add more extras because you reached back," Gil admits.

Malcolm whimpers in worried agreement and shifts his hands behind his back, crossing his wrists. "Sorry, Gil. I'll be good," he tells him quietly.

Gil begins to wrap his left hand around the kid's wrists, then changes his mind. He takes the kid's right hand in his own, holding it and using enough pressure to keep his left wrist pinned underneath.

"What did you do to earn extras?" he asks Mal softly, thumb stroking the hand he's holding.

"Didn't come for my spanking, I told you no when you said I earned a spanking, even though I knew I was being bad. I was  _ soo _ rude when you asked why I was getting spanked. It wasn't even you I was mad at!" Mal exclaims in miserable confusion.

"I think you just needed somebody safe to lash out at, kid. You knew no matter how hard you pushed back at me, this was the worst that would happen," Gil explains for him.

"This is pretty bad, Gil," Malcolm admits, shifting his feet nervously.

"I know, kid. Let's get it over with, okay?" Gil asks gently.

"Gil, there's one other thing. And you might want to get the hairbrush," Mal tells him, guilty but determined.

"What is it, kid?" Gil asks.

"I was… I tried to manipulate you into not spanking me, using how worried you are about the copycat and my dad. I knew you felt guilty and I used it against you because I didn't want you to spank me for being rude," Mal admits shakily.

"I caught that, yes," Gil tells him. "I think you're right, and I should spank you for that. It was just another way to tell me 'no'. But I don't think you need the hairbrush. You did good, telling me what you did wrong, kid. I'm proud of you."

Mal puts his head down and begins crying quietly, before the second part of his spanking has even begun. Gil figures it's more than time to get started.

"When you misbehave, I am always going to spank your bottom," he scolds, giving Mal a sharp swat between each word to that tender patch of white skin right at the tops of his legs. Malcolm's feet twitch miserably, and Gil can hear the muffled crying he's doing into the bed. He makes himself continue anyway, spreading the next spanks across his upper thighs.

"You are old enough to accept your punishment. You do not try to manipulate your way out of a spanking you have earned, Malcolm Charles." Gil has been spanking between each word, as much to force himself to keep going as to make sure his point is heard. Mal's shoulders are shaking hard with sobs, and he's lying limp over Gil's lap, not trying to fight or protest the punishment. He's bright pink from the tops of his thighs halfway down, and Gil knows he's smarting badly. It's enough, he decides.

"Okay, kid," he says, releasing Mal's hands and rubbing his back, "we're done. All over. You were very brave and your spanking's finished."

Mal just cries some more. Gil gently tugs his underwear up for him, then tugs the kid up and into his lap. Mal hangs in his arms, crying hard. "I've got you, kid. You're okay. I know it stings, but you'll feel better soon. Just hold on to me, I've got you," he tells his kid.

Mal nuzzles closer, burying his face in Gil's chest. "I want to work with you," he mumbles, after a few minutes.

"Well good, kid, I want you to work with me too," Gil tells him, stroking the back of his hair. They've already covered this, but apparently Mal needs some extra reassurance. He's happy to provide it.

"Even though I was a brat?" Mal asks, twisting to peek up at him.

"Always. No matter how much you act up. I always want you with me," Gil assures him.

"Even if…" Malcolm pauses here, looking away again. "Even if I decide I want to stay?" he asks.

"Honestly, kid, I'm kind of hoping you do," Gil tells him. "I don't want to force you to stay home, if you want to spread your wings. But part of getting you started consulting was selfish- I think I hoped that if I showed you we had interesting cases here you wouldn't want to go look somewhere else."

"I might not," Mal tells him carefully. Gil isn't sure if he means he might not want to stay, or he might not look elsewhere. But the answer is the same.

"I'll love you no matter what you decide, kid."

*****

They stay cuddled together for a long time, until Malcolm is ready to get up. He gathers up the writing things he knocked in the floor earlier.

"No laptop?" Gil asks.

"When it's ready to submit. I do my best work freeform, when I'm brainstorming," Mal tells him. He goes to the fridge, emerging triumphantly with a Tupperware and a grin. "Ha! I knew it!" he says.

"What've you got there?" Gil asks, amused.

"Mother broke into my apartment earlier-"

"She owns the building, kid," Gil reminds him.

Malcolm continues as if he hadn't spoken. "And she made me tea. Before you got here. I was supposed to call her about dinner this week and I didn't. But she made me Jello!" he says triumphantly.

"I don't know if you deserve a treat," Gil teases.

Mal snorts. "You're kidding, right? Jackie always spoiled me rotten after you spanked me. You do too, you just think I don't notice," he says confidently.

"Far be it from me to think there's  _ anything _ you don't notice, kid," Gil tells him.

"I'm having my Jello and then I'm writing my profile. Alone," he reminds Gil.

"That mean you want me out of your hair?" Gil asks.

"Sit with me while I eat?" Malcolm requests. "I'll share!"

"Of course, kid. And you don't have to share your Jello." Gil sits down on the couch and Mal settles beside him, turning onto his hip and leaning most of his weight against Gil as he eats his Jello.

"It's weird, being home," he tells Gil softly.

"Weird how?" Gil asks, stroking his hair.

"I forgot what it's like, having people who want me around. Makes it harder to get stuff done." Malcolm considers his Jello seriously. "But it's better, I think. I feel better. Safer. Even though New York doesn't feel safe at all."

"Because he's here?" Gil asks.

"Yeah. Dr. Whitley- and his copycat," Mal admits. "I wish you and Mom and Ains lived somewhere else. Maybe Chicago. We should all move," he suggests absently.

Gil knows Malcolm doesn't mean it, but he would pick up his life and move tomorrow, if it would give the kid a shred of peace. "The Milton's are New York royalty, as your mother always reminds us. I think we're stuck," Gil tells him.

"I'd rather be with you guys," Mal decides. "It's not like he can get out and get me, right? He doesn't even  _ want _ to hurt me. That's probably the worst part," Malcolm muses.

"Have you talked to Gabrielle?" Gil asks carefully.

Malcolm looks shifty. "I'll call her. She's been my doctor the whole time, she was telling the guy in Virginia what to do," he says.

"And you didn't trust that guy enough for anything but meds. But I think you should go back to weekly appointments, for a while. While you adjust to being back, closer to him," Gil suggests.

Malcolm looks like he's considering being indignant, then sighs. "I need her," he admits.

"I'm proud of you for seeing that, kid," Gil tells him. Malcolm snuggles closer, playing with his Jello for another long moment.

"I need to get to work," he says eventually, reluctantly.

"That's my cue, then," Gil says, following Malcolm as he stands up.

"I'll call you if I get overwhelmed. And I'll see you in the morning," Malcolm reassures him. "It's not him, and I know that. It's just another profile."

"Be safe," Gil orders him, and they both know he doesn't only mean physically. He wraps a hand around the back of Mal's neck, stroking his thumb. "I love you, kid."

"Love you too, Gil," Mal tells him, smiling.

Gil is halfway down the stairs when he hears Malcolm call, "And when you talk to your 'co-parent', tell her I said thanks for the Jello!"

Gil laughs as he lets himself out and locks the door. The kid has them figured out, alright. The next week or two will be rough, but his family's going to be fine.


	3. Explosions and Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mal finishes his profile, and meets Edrisa. Gil lets him go with the team to pick up a suspect. Things do not go as planned, and Gil remembers some of the hard times he an Mal have been through, and wishes Jackie were here to help. Mal and Gil agree to keep a secret from Jessica.
> 
> **Warning: There is a flashback to a father/son style spanking of a young adult in this chapter. There is also a brief scene of a mom/son style 'reminder' spanking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter took a while, because I got distracted and wrote several chapters of another fic. Which introduced Gil and JT's first meeting and expanded on some of the bad choices we learn this chapter that Mal made when he was younger. Should I go ahead and start posting it, since it's bitten me and I've got 2-3 chapters (depending on where I break) already? Or should I do one thing at a time? It's set entirely in the past, so no continuity confusion.

Gil texts Malcolm when he wakes up the next morning. ' _ How's it going? Want me to grab breakfast and pick you up?' _

Malcolm texts back half an hour later- Gil hopes that means he was sleeping. ' _ I'm fine, should be in by 10am.' _

Then, a moment later, a second message. ' _ If that's okay?' _

Insecure, or unsure how short the 'short leash' is? Gil isn't sure. ' _ It was an offer, not an order. Just promise you'll eat something before you come in.' _

The ' _ Yes, sir _ .' he gets back tells him the kid is tense- and trying hard to be on his best behavior. Gil has never demanded that level of verbal respect from Mal- he knows the kid respects him, and he values closeness over authority in their relationship.

He had intended to call Jessica this morning, but he gets sidetracked texting Malcolm, and as soon as he gets in to work his boss wants a meeting about the copycat. He shares what he knows, accepts the friendly, "I guess you'll get to catch the new Surgeon too," and returns to his team to check in.

The kid isn't in yet when Edrisa calls at 10:05 to tell them she's got results, so he sticks a post-it on his office door telling Mal where to find them and they head down.

Malcolm meets them down in Autopsy, with his usual flair for the dramatic. But he's visibly unsure, hanging in the doorway at first and watching him. He tries too hard with Edrisa, though she seems flattered rather than annoyed, and Gil's stomach drops when he sees Malcolm's reaction to JT's remarks.

JT doesn't really believe Mal is their killer any more than Dani believes her ex is. It's dark sarcasm, but Malcolm is already on edge and it clearly wounds him. He pushes through when Gil redirects him, and soon he's caught up in his profile, and he's given them their first real lead.

"Okay, Dani, check those bank records, JT, prep a warrant. Edrisa, thanks for the help. Kid, with me," Gil tells everyone, and they scatter. Gil leads Mal back to his office. The blinds are all closed, so he turns on the light and turns to face his wayward son.

Malcolm looks way too on edge when Gil turns to face him. "I'm sorry I was late, you wanted me to eat and I had to heat the egg bites and then I realized I hadn't changed clothes and I'm sorry I made you wait and I was weird. I'm trying, Gil. I'm trying! I didn't mean to make JT mad this time," Mal tells him.

Gil wraps a hand around the kid's neck. "Look at me, Mal." Malcolm does, tentatively. "You did great. You got up here in time to share your findings along with Edrisa, and I'm proud of you for eating breakfast. You did great with the team, and I think Edrisa really likes you. JT wasn't mad and you didn't do anything wrong. It's just going to take a while before he trusts you, after last night," Gil reassures him, petting Malcolm soothingly.

"You're not mad?" Mal asks tentatively.

"Not even a little," Gil tells him.

"Regretting 'Bring Your Basketcase To Work' day yet?" Malcolm asks wryly.

"Never. You even gave us our first lead!" Gil reminds him. "Seriously, though, did you sleep at all?" he asks.

"Couldn't. Too deep in our guy's brain. He wants to  _ be _ my father. I don't want to find out what going to sleep with all that in my head would do," the kid tells him. Gil sighs. "Remember that thing where you weren't mad?" Malcolm jokes, teasing him and testing to see whether he's in trouble at the same time.

"I gave you last night to work how you wanted," Gil admits.

"And I did eat breakfast!" Malcolm reminds him cheerily.

"And you did eat breakfast," Gil allows. "C'mon, kid, let's go see the team."

***

When Dani gets an address for Nico, Malcolm begs shamelessly to go with the them to pick him up. "Come on, I'll be an asset! And I've got hostage negotiation training."

"Do we expect hostages?" JT asks.

"No, of course not. I just meant I'm good with volatile personalities." JT snorts. "You don't count. You aren't a serial killer," Malcolm tells him. "It could come in handy!"

"Kid, I'm not letting you anywhere near there if there's a chance of a hostage situation. You're a consultant," Gil reminds him.

"There won't be, it'll be perfectly safe, I'll stay behind JT and Dani the whole time," Mal assures him eagerly.

"Will it be safe, or will you need to stay behind them?" Gil asks, amused.

Malcolm sighs, frustrated. "We're just questioning a person of interest. If he's this smart, there's no way he's going to throw it all away and just start shooting at people now."

"I should make you wear a vest anyway," Gil teases. The kid is right. And being out in the field with the other agents, without Gil, might be good for him.

"Yeah, but that's just for if  _ JT _ shoots him," Dani points out.

"I promise to let the cops go first and not to antagonize anyone," Mal assures him solemnly, but his eyes are grinning. He knows Gil is going to give in.

"Alright, you three go pay Nico a visit. I'll work on getting a warrant. You can bring him in voluntarily if he answers the door, but otherwise wait and I'll join you with the warrant," Gil instructs. "This guy is smart. We need to do it by the book so it sticks."

The three young people nod. Gil takes a deep breath. "JT, Dani, can I talk to you in my office?" he asks.

"Hey!" Malcolm says, offended at being left out.

"Remember how you were going to listen?" Gil asks Malcolm. "Well, sit!" he says it jokingly, but Mal knows when to push- he sits sulkily.

Gil closes the office door before addressing his team. "Look, I know he's a little odd-"

"Guy's weird. Really weird," JT tells him.

"But you can trust him in the field," Gil finishes with a glare. "He's not some armchair psychologist. He just got let go by the FBI."

"A Fed. I should've known," JT grumbles.

"Not anymore," Gil tells him. He decides he'll wait to tell JT Mal is theirs, now. Hopefully, today will go well and he'll be more receptive.

"Why not?" Dani asks. "Should we be worried?"

"He punched a Sheriff," Gil admits. "The guy shot a suspect who had already surrendered."

"And they  _ fired _ him?" JT sounds offended on Malcolm's behalf.

"The suspect was that butcher in Tennessee I was telling you about. But for somebody with a total disregard for rules, there are some Bright obsesses over," Gil explains.

"And who we're allowed to kill is one of them. Good to know," Dani extrapolates.

"In his eyes, the Sheriff was a murderer now, too," Gil tells her.

"Neither of us has ever had a questionable shoot, Gil," JT assures him.

"I'm not saying you have to worry about Bright turning on you. I just wanted you to know you can trust him, out there. He's good on his feet," Gil tells them. Both officers nod.

"That said, he's a consultant on this one. He doesn't have a gun, so you protect him if things get heated." The instruction is given firmly.

"I'll bring the kid back in one piece," JT promises. He knows that Gil will ultimately hold him responsible for all three of them, out there.

"JT, you've got lead. I'll tell Bright he follows your orders without question or he stays here. You guys call me if you find anything.  _ Don't _ go in if he doesn't answer, I should only be a few minutes behind with a warrant. He doesn't hold his victims, and every murder has taken place in the evening so far. We have time to do this right," Gil orders.

"You got it, Boss," JT says.

Dani nods. "We'll wait for you."

"Alright, then you two get ready, I'm going to have a word with Bright before you go," Gil tells them warmly. He's got a great team.

JT and Dani exit his office, and Gil sticks his head out and calls, "Bright!"

Malcolm joins him, and Gil closes the door. "I know, Gil. Don't antagonize the suspect. Play nice with the team. Remember I don't have a gun and act like it," Malcolm recites.

"JT is in charge. You do what he tells you," Gil adds.

Mal nods. "Listening to the person you put in charge is listening to you, even if I don't like them. I know, Gil. I promise. This is not my first suspect visit," Malcolm reminds him.

"It is your first as a consultant. You aren't armed. You need to trust other people to keep you safe," Gil reminds him.

"Gil, I've never shot anyone. I carried a gun because they made me, but I'm better with words than weapons. I'm not in any extra danger. And you wouldn't be sending me out if you didn't trust Dani and JT. I'm  _ fine _ ," Mal assures him.

"I know, kid, I know. What was it Jackie always said?" Gil asks with a smile.

"Your dad's going to fuss, so if you just let him he'll finish sooner," Malcolm recites, smiling at the memory. "I'm not on my way to prom, though, Gil, it's just a suspect interview!"

"So I shouldn't make you pose for pictures with Dani and JT before you go?" Gil asks, teasing him. Malcolm laughs, bright and honest, and Gil's smile sticks with him long after his team is gone.

***

Gil was already on his way to the scene with the warrant when Dani called the situation in, and he's not ashamed to admit he broke quite a few traffic laws getting there. She didn't know about the bomb when she called dispatch, of course, but the report, tied to the location of his team, made his stomach sink anyway.

Gil is pretty sure he aged twenty years in the seconds between the explosion and Malcolm running out of the building. He was glad JT and Nico had made it out too, of course, but his heart hadn't begun beating again until he saw Mal.

His surrogate son had spoken to Dani before going over to the EMT's, and Gil had been leaning against his car for support, so Malcolm hadn't noticed him until he'd passed the cooler off.

Mal had seen his car then and come straight over, while Dani joined JT with the EMTs. "Gil! Gil, my profile was wrong, you're not going to believe what we saw- it wasn't Nico, I learned so much…"

"Before the building blew up?" Gil asks dumbly.

"Oh, yeah, that. It's fine. I chopped Nico's hand off and we made it out," Malcolm assures him, waving off the question.

"You  _ WHAT _ ?" The only explanation that makes any sense to Gil is that Malcolm has a head injury. "Nevermind. Paramedics, now."

"What? Gil, no, I'm fine, it's not my blood, I told you I had to cut Nico's hand off-" Malcolm explains, stopping suddenly. "Gil? I think maybe you need to sit down," he says softly, opening Gil's car door and guiding him to sit. "I'm fine, Gil, see?" he turns in place, and all Gil sees is the blood, the soot from the  _ explosion. _

"Your buddy said there was somebody else inside- would that be you, sir?" A paramedic has appeared. Thank God.

"I'm fine," Malcolm tells him irritably. "But I think he may be in shock."

"Sir, are you okay?" the paramedic asks.

Gil stares at the EMT. "He was just in an explosion," he says, lost.

"He was. Okay, let's get him looked over, okay, and then we'll see if you don't feel better," the young man says supportively.

"I'm  _ fine _ ," Malcolm brushes him aside. "Go give Nico's people a hand or something." He laughs, manic. Something is wrong.

"Sir-" the paramedic tries.

"I said  _ NO _ !" Malcolm insists.

Gil stands up, tugging Malcolm close to whisper, "Unless you want me to put you over my knee in the middle of this street, you  _ will _ let them check you out."

"Jeez, jeez, okay, calm down," Malcolm grumbles. "Apparently you can look me over,” he acquiesces gracelessly.

The paramedic looks faintly relieved. Poor kid. Gil sighs, sitting back to watch the paramedic work and try to wrap his head around what's going on. JT walks up before he's quite managed it.

"They think they can put it back," he tells Gil.

"The crime scene?" Gil asks dumbly.

JT looks at him oddly. "Nico's  _ hand _ ," he says. "I'm gonna ride to the hospital with him, make sure he's safe and get a statement when he's out of surgery."

"The explosion," Gil realizes.

"No, the consultant," JT tells him. "Bright chopped it off."

Mal said that, earlier. He hadn't been able to comprehend it. He must look baffled, because JT adds, "Bomb was strapped to the chair. Metal attachments, no chance of cutting it. So was Nico. Bright got him loose," he shrugs.

"By… removing his hand?" Gil asks slowly.

"I didn't have a better idea. Was about to tell him to run and I'd handle Nico when he did it. I feel like I've got a fucking sunburn on the back of my neck, we cut it so close. No time to pick locks or disable anything. Kid's crazy but he saved Nico's life, and mine. I wouldn't have left a victim," JT admits.

"Was there another  _ way _ ?" Gil asks, still wrapping his mind around this.

"I'm sure the pencil pushers will think of one, with weeks to run cost/benefit analysis. But in the moment? With 70 something seconds on the timer and a guy shackled to the bomb? Crazy was all we had. And crazy worked," JT tells him. "I'll tell whoever investigates we had two choices: cut off his hand or let him get blown up. Apparently, reattachment surgery is pretty successful these days, but I don't think they take jigsaw puzzles."

"He made the right call?" Gil asks, reassured.

"He made the only call. I didn't have an idea. I followed his lead. Sometimes, you need crazy," JT tells him. "Ambulance is about to head out. I'll call you from the hospital when I know something."

JT claps him on the arm and returns to Nico. Malcolm's joke about giving them a hand suddenly makes more sense. This is going to be a nightmare to sort out. The department is definitely getting sued.

"His blood pressure is crazy," the EMT tells Gil, interrupting his thoughts."I think it's just the adrenaline dump, but I'm a little concerned."

"I have major PTSD. This is barely above normal for me," Malcolm tells him dismissively

"How are you  _ alive _ ?" the paramedic asks, scandalized. "The human body can't take prolonged stress levels that high."

"Oh, I know," Malcolm assures him.

"He does a lot of yoga," Gil reassures the paramedic, who looks like his own blood pressure might be getting dangerously high. The kid definitely wasn't prepared for a patient like this.

"Also lots of drugs. Prescription, of course," Malcolm says wryly.

"They'd better be," Gil growls at him. That has not always been the case. The summer Malcolm decided to try what he called ‘Do It Yourself Brain Chemistry Modification’ had been the roughest of their relationship. He remembers the last time he caught Malcolm with drugs.

Malcolm had come home from grad school over Spring Break to see his family. They’d all had dinner at the Milton house Friday night when he arrived, then he had bounced back and forth between homes. Jackie had gently insisted he start with his Mother, and give her Friday and Saturday before spending Sunday with the Arroyos.

Jackie liked to go to church on Sunday mornings. Gil was ambivalent about organized religion, but Malcolm had seen too much of the evil of the world too young to ever really trust it. So they’d planned for Malcolm to get in while they were in church, then they’d spend the day together and fix Sunday dinner, which Jessica and Ainsley would join them for.

Mal had been positively vibrating with energy when they got home. “Hi! How are you? I missed you- I got the rest of the reading I needed to do this week finished, so I can just be  _ home _ while I’m here!” he’d announced, bouncing between them to hug them both. 

“Somebody’s had too much caffeine this morning,” Jackie teased, hugging him close. “Do you want to help me cook?”

“Yes, yes, please! Let’s go!” Malcolm told her, bright and cheery. 

Gil sat at the table, peeling and dicing what was handed to him, as his wife and their kid flitted around, cooking side dishes and laughing. Jackie had started the pernil the night before, and now they focus on vegetables and rice and at Malcolm’s request, lemon flan.

“You’d really be interested in some of the stuff I’ve been reading for my thesis, Gil. I’ve found some psychologists who have treated known serial offenders  _ during _ their active periods,” Malcolm says, during a discussion of how school is going.

“Sounds great, kid,” Gil assures him.

“I’ve got my notes sitting on my desk, if you want to read them. More of the criminology applications of the reading, than the actual reading itself. Stuff cops can watch for with persons of interest, that kind of thing,” Mal tells him, excited to share.

Gil figures he might as well read what the kid’s working on. Mal always wants to know he’s interested, and that he thinks what the kid is doing is important. And he’s done chopping- they’re coating the pan for the flan and stirring the vegetables occasionally, now. 

Gil finds the notebook Mal’s been working in sitting on top of his desk, half shoved into a bookbag. When he pulls it out, a pill bottle comes with it. Gil picks it up, raising an eyebrow. Mal usually keeps all of his pills in one case, when he’s bouncing back and forth from Harvard and his two homes. He’ll bring the kid the bottle, and he can put it back with the others.

Except when Gil looks at it, he realizes the name on the bottle isn’t Malcolm’s. And that Adderall isn’t a prescription the kid is supposed to be taking. He leaves the notebook, bringing the pill bottle back into the kitchen.

He sets it deliberately on the counter, watching as Mal turns around to see what the noise was. The laughter leaves the kid’s eyes immediately. “You dug through my stuff?” he asks hotly.

“It rolled out when I grabbed the notebook. I was going to give it to you to put back with your others, when I saw what it says,” Gil tells him evenly.

Jackie picks up the bottle and examines it. “Oh,  _ mi luz _ , what have you done?” she asks. She reads the bottle and puts it back down. “I will finish dinner. I think my men need to talk,” she says, dismissing them and giving them their marching orders.

Gil had been inclined to wait until after dinner to handle this, but Jackie always has a reason. Mal is looking at him apprehensively, waiting for instructions. “You heard her, kid. C’mon,” Gil wraps a supportive arm around Mal and leads him back to his room.

“You want to tell me what you’re doing with that bottle, kid?” he asks. There could be a simple explanation- a friend who misplaced them at Mal’s apartment, something. Malcolm has grown up a lot, since the month they spent resetting his brain chemistry when he decided to start experimenting with drugs.

“I take  _ so much _ medication, Gil. And it’s all designed to slow down the crazy parts of my brain. Well, it’s slowing down the parts I need, too. If I’m going to finish my thesis, I need to be able to  _ work _ . And work fast,” Malcolm insists.

“You talk to Gabrielle about this?” Malcolm still comes home at least one weekend a month, and sees his childhood doctor for medication adjustments and refills. He could easily have talked to her about his concerns.

“Nooo,” Mal admits. “It wasn’t planned out, like that. I was complaining I was too tired to focus and a classmate offered to sell me some Adderall. It’s a prescription drug, it’s not like I’m shooting up speed.”

“No, just mixing uppers and downers like you don’t care what they do to you,” Gil scolds. “ _ Not to mention _ risking drugs charges if you get caught with someone else’s medication. You’ll never get into the FBI with a criminal record, Mal.”

That sinks in. “Shit. Gil, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.” Mal looks mortified. Good. He should be embarrassed about making such bad choices.

“Prescription drugs that aren’t yours are still just  _ drugs _ , kid. I don’t care what your mother tells you. She gets away with a lot, just by virtue of being a Milton. But law enforcement is a different world, and you’ve  _ got to be smarter than this _ ,” Gil tells him firmly.

“It didn’t seem like that big of a deal, Gil. It’s  _ Harvard _ . Everybody’s on something. To make them smarter, to make them faster. Without it, and with everything else I’m on- how am I going to keep up?” Mal asks worriedly.

“The same way you did through undergrad, and the first year and a half of your masters. By being smarter than everyone else,” Gil tells him, light but not teasing. It’s true, after all. His kid’s a genius. “And by managing your time better. You took some today, didn’t you?” he asks.

Mal nods, guilty. “I wanted to be  _ done _ , so I could spend the day with you guys.”

“But you didn’t  _ need _ to take drugs. You could’ve worked just a little bit each day this week,” Gil scolds him. “You don’t have to do it all at once, kid. You just have to set reasonable deadlines for yourself, and break the work up so you can meet them.”

“That makes sense,” Malcolm admits. “I just always feel like I need to be doing as much as I physically can, every second.”

“If you have to use those, it’s  _ more _ than you can physically do, safely,” Gil tells him. “Your homework this week is to break your thesis down into the things you’ve got to get done to finish it, and set goals for what date you’re going to finish each part. Then, you know you’re on track without killing yourself. You can go over the schedule with Jackie on Friday. She’ll understand it better than I will,” he decides. His wife, after all, has a masters in education. Gil’s just a cop.

“Yes, sir,” the kid tells him. It’s obviously sunk in, as soon as he made Mal  _ stop and think _ , just how bad of an idea this was. That’s the trouble with the kid- he never stops and thinks, until someone makes him. He’s always rushing on to the next thing.

Gil considers how to punish the kid next. This isn’t the absolute insanity of Mal starting a self administered drug regimen recommended by Dr. Whitley. It doesn’t even feel like a true start down that path again. Mal wasn’t trying to permanently alter his mind, he just made a short sighted mistake looking for a way to make things easier. He doesn’t want to spend Spring Break playing drill sergeant to the kid, and he doesn’t honestly think Mal needs it. This is a screw up, not a spiral.

With that in mind, he tells Mal to, “Go get the spoon.” The kid looks surprised, and relieved. Probably, he was expecting the belt.

Still, he argues. “Jackie’s in the kitchen, Gil. She’ll see!”

“She’s the one who told me to go ahead and spank you, kid, instead of waiting till after your mom and your sister leave. She already knows,” Gil assures him.

Mal looks horrified. “ _ They _ ’ll know!”

Nobody spanks Ainsley- her trouble is usually much more straightforward, and her mother grounds her as needed and Gil and Jackie reinforce that when she’s with them. The kids are  _ very _ different- boredom is a good deterrent, with Ainsley. Giving Mal that much time trapped in his own head without distractions would be  _ torture _ . Still, she’s seen her brother in the aftermath of a spanking, before. And obviously, Jessica knows how Gil deals with misbehavior- she  _ calls _ him, when Malcolm acts up and she needs help handling it.

“They love you, they won’t think any less of you or tease you,” Gil tells him placidly.

That’s true- when they were younger, Ainsley had teased Malcolm about being reluctant to sit once, embarrassing him in front of the whole family. Jackie had made her spend fifteen minutes with her nose in the corner of the living room, and then talked to her about how embarrassing it was for everyone to know and talk about your punishment, when you made a mistake. Ainsley had never needed the lesson repeated.

Malcolm clearly hates it, but he doesn’t have another argument. Looking frustrated, he goes to retrieve the spoon. He’s smart enough not to slam his bedroom door, but Gil sees the tension in his posture.

Which means he’s unsurprised to hear a yelp after Mal arrives in the kitchen. He’s gone stomping down the hall, and Jackie is having none of it. He doesn’t hear any more noise from the other end of the house- Jackie will calm Malcolm down and reassure him before she sends him back, he knows- and a few minutes later, his kid reappears, with the spoon and a nervous expression.

“Here,” Mal thrusts the spoon at him, obviously wanting to be rid of it. “And Jackie gave me a few smacks for,” he winces- this part is obviously a direct quote, “throwing a sulky fit about a spanking I more than earned, and she said to tell you I earned a dozen extras from you, too, and they should be with the spoon.”

Gil shakes his head. “What did you  _ do _ , kid?”

“The chair you were sitting in earlier was in my way- I might have kicked it,” Mal admits sheepishly.

“No wonder you yelped,” Gil says, sympathetic. Jackie would  _ not _ have liked that.

Malcolm turns bright red. “She didn’t just turn me around and smack me. She made me pull the chair back out and bring her the spoon, and she put me over her knee and gave me a dozen!” he admits, mortified. “Jackie hasn’t really spanked me since  _ high school _ !”

“That wasn’t a real spanking, kid, it was a reminder,” Gil points out, but he hugs his embarrassed son, petting Mal while he calms down- not that Jackie won’t have comforted him at the time. He’s seen her pull the kid up quick like that before- she’ll put him over her knee at one of the kitchen chairs, and won’t even need to take his pants down. A few sharp cracks with the spoon and he’s ready to listen, and she slides him back to his knees beside her and lets him rest his head in her lap while they talk about what went wrong.

“I’m sorry, Gil,” Mal tells him softly, after a long moment.

Gil pulls him back, so he can see the kid’s face. “You ready to get this done?” he asks. Mal nods, and Gil sits down on the bed. Malcolm comes immediately to his side, unfastening his pants and sliding them down before lowering himself into place. Apparently, Jackie got whatever sulking he was doing out of his system- he’s nothing but respectful and regretful now.

Indeed, Gil can see pink patches peeking out low on the kid’s bottom, where his briefs stop. Jackie made every spank of that dozen count. With that in mind, he asks Mal, “You want the extras now or at the end?” He figures the kid is accepting his spanking, he can let him have a vote. He’ll get them, either way.

Malcolm mumbles something that includes the words, “Over with,” so Gil picks the spoon back up and rests it lightly on the top of one of his thighs. He doesn’t make Mal recount what he did wrong- he did that when he told Gil he’d earned the smacks. Instead, he brings the spoon down sharply, six times at the very top of his right thigh, before repeating the pattern with six sharp spanks on the left one.

The pink band across the tops of his thighs- Gil kept his target area narrow, so each spot got two doses of the spoon- makes Malcolm squirm, making breathy little noises with each spank. “You know better than to throw fits because you’ve earned a spanking,” Gil reminds him.

“Sorry, sorry! I’ll be good!” Mal assures him.

“I hope so. You’re starting this spanking already sore because you  _ didn’t think _ about what you were doing. Just like you didn’t think about taking Adderall. The opportunity was there and you took it, instead of thinking about the consequences. Well, kid, these are the  _ easy _ consequences. A spanking is a lot better than a trip to the ER for a dangerous drug interaction or an arrest record,” Gil scolds.

Mal nods, and Gil asks him, “Why am I spanking you?”

Mal has obviously thought it through, beyond, ‘You found my Adderall,’ because he says, “I made a stupid choice to take drugs that weren’t prescribed to me, even though they could interfere with the drugs I  _ need _ or cause a dangerous reaction. I risked my future by buying and having drugs illegally. I made bad choices because I didn’t stop and think.”

“Good boy. See, you’re thinking things through better already,” Gil reassures him. Then he begins spanking.

Mal’s already ‘warm’ from the paddling from Jackie, but he still gives the kid a couple of minutes of light spanks over his underwear. Mal actually has a high pain tolerance, but sting gets him like nothing else, so he’s whining quietly and shifting his legs by the time Gil decides they’re ready to move on.

He taps Mal’s hip lightly, and the kid whimpers but raises his hips so his underwear can come down. “You are the smartest person I know, Malcolm Charles. All you’ve got to do is slow down and  _ think _ ,” Gil scolds as he begins spanking Mal’s freshly bared backside.

“I willlll!” Malcolm assures him, obviously trying not to whine or struggle at the newly painful spanks. Gil notices the areas where the spoon landed earlier are a little redder, so he falls into a pattern, giving each spot a few spanks in a row until it matches the red patches. Mal doesn’t enjoy it  _ at all _ , and he’s making breathy little, “Oh! Owwww,” noises by the time Gil’s evened out his bottom.

Gil usually spanks randomly, but he decides today that, since making Mal  _ think _ is the goal, giving him time to think about where the next spank is going to land can only reinforce the lesson. So he starts at the top of the kid’s bottom and spanks left and right, before moving down an inch and repeating the spanks. He continues, up and down Mal’s sore backside, and he’s surprised at how quickly the regular, predictable spanks reduce the kid to tears.

He gives Mal one more circuit of those spanks before picking up the spoon. He considers continuing the pattern, but the kid’s learned his lesson. A couple of minutes of light, random paddling and a good dose on his sit spots to finish will be enough, he decides.

“Oh, no,” Malcolm groans, when he feels the spoon touch the bottom of his left cheek. But he doesn’t try to reach back or stop Gil as he paddles the red bottom over his knee, lighting up the tender flesh with sharp crack after crack of the spoon. Gil is proud of him for accepting his spanking without a fuss.

When they’re about done, he tugs Mal’s shoulder lightly. “Forward a little,” he instructs.

“Oh no! Gil, please, I didn’t earn any extras, I know I didn’t!” the kid pleads.

“I’m not going to spank your legs, kid. Unless you don’t scoot forward like I asked you to. But you’ve got some more spanks down here,” Gil taps the very sensitive spot low on Mal’s bottom where his cheeks meet, “before we’re done.”

Sometimes, if a spanking is serious but Gil doesn’t want to be severe, he focuses on just the lower part of Mal’s bottom, where it hurts the worst. Spanks there stick with the kid every time he sits down, making it a good lesson, albeit one the kid hates.

Malcolm whimpers as he obeys. “Please, Gil, I won’t do it again,” he promises fervently.

“I hope not,” Gil tells him, genuinely regretful. “I don’t like spanking your bottom till it hurts this much, kid, but you’ve got to think. This way, you’re going to think about your bad choices every time you sit down.”

Mal only cries harder. Gil lines the spoon up and lets it fall, paddling just the very lowest part of the kid’s poor bottom. The underside of each red cheek is pushed up towards him by Mal’s position over his lap, and he takes advantage, spanking a band of darker, hotter red across the most sensitive skin.

When he’s finished, he helps Mal fix his clothes and kneel up, and hugs the kid tight, reassuring him that he’s forgiven. Mal cries for a few long minutes, and Gil hates being the cause of the kid’s pain. But a smacked bottom will heal a lot faster than what Mal could do to himself, carelessly taking any pill that promises to help him study.

After a few minutes, Mal is recovered enough to look up at him and say, “I’m sorry, Gil. I ought to be old enough to stop making dumb mistakes like this and making my bad choices your problem.”

“Hey, kid, no. You don’t get to a point where you’re just supposed to figure it all out and I’m done guiding you. You’re my kid forever, and that means that I’m here whenever you need me. I love you, and I’m proud of everything you’re accomplishing. That doesn’t change because you get tripped up sometimes.

Malcolm smiles incandescently, apparently relieved. He goes to wash his face, and they walk back to the kitchen, Gil carrying the spoon to replace it on the wall. His other hand is wrapped lightly around Mal’s shoulder and neck, providing additional reassurance and connection.

Gil is surprised there are no cushions on the chairs at the table when they return to the kitchen. Mal obviously is too, looking at them with confusion. “You abuse the chairs, you cannot expect them to comfort you, naughty boy,” Jackie tells him firmly.

Gil is surprised- there must have been more to what happened earlier than he realized. “He said he kicked the chair, and you paddled him,” he tells his wife.

“And I asked for the extras! I did!” Malcolm adds nervously.

“Did he also tell you he yelled at the ‘stupid fucking chair’ for getting in his way?” Jackie asks shrewdly.

“He did not,” Gil says.

“I think eating dinner on the hard, wood seats will be a good reminder not to throw any more fits,” Jackie tells him, and Gil agrees.

“Now, come and set the table, boys. The flan is almost ready,” she tells them, smiling affectionately. “It smells wonderful. A perfect idea for dessert,  _ mi luz _ .”

“And let me guess, I don’t get dessert, because I cursed earlier, and apparently nobody in this house believes in forgiveness anymore,” Malcolm bites out viciously, shrugging off the gentle hand she’s placed on his shoulder.

Jackie looks immediately hurt, and Gil takes a physical step back, forcing himself to let his wife handle their kid. She’ll let him know if she needs help.

Jackie straightens up, hurt melting into a no-nonsense look. Malcolm is already looking stricken, as he realizes what he’s just said and how it made his second mom feel. “Do you need another reminder about sulking?” Jackie asks him, giving him a chance to rectify the situation.

“No,” Mal tells her, immediately shaking his head. “But-” he surprises them both by turning and taking the spoon from Gil, “I definitely deserve a spanking for being so rude to you. I’m sorry,  _ Mami _ .” He hands her the spoon, ducking his head guiltily.

Mal almost never calls Jackie that. It’s too close to ‘mom’, and it upsets his mother. But Jackie loves him just as hard as Gil does, and if Gil is safety for the kid, Jackie is security- the soft lap that shelters him from the ravages of the world. He may be an adult now, but he still needs his  _ mami _ sometimes, and still loves her fiercely.

“Come here,  _ mi luz _ , and we will fix what has gone wrong between us,” Jackie assures him, turning one of the kitchen chairs and sitting in it. Mal immediately goes to his knees beside her so they can talk before she pulls him over her lap. She strokes his hair away from his face, gently. “What has you so upset, my sweet boy?”

“I just… I’m still a little manic, because I took an Adderall this morning. And I was surprised about the cushions. I guess I was worried you’re still mad at me, since you’re still punishing me. I thought I was forgiven,” the kid admits softly.

“I should have told you earlier I was taking the cushions off tonight, so you were not surprised. I had already planned on it, as a little reminder of the consequences of sulkiness. You are forgiven. You will sit on a hard chair for a little while, just like your bottom will hurt for a little while, but this does not mean I am angry with you,  _ mi luz _ ,” she assures him gently.

“I’m sorry,” Mal tells her again.

“I know, sweet boy. And I forgive you,” she assures him. “Now, this is the second time I’ve had to remind you not to throw fits, today,” she tells him.

Malcolm glances nervously over his shoulder, to the only window anywhere near the kitchen. It’s actually on the other side of the wall that divides the front hall from the kitchen area, but even though his mother and sister aren’t due for another half hour, Gil can well imagine the kid doesn’t want to risk a mailman or somebody somehow seeing his bare, red bottom. He goes and closes the blinds, leaning casually against the dividing wall to watch the proceedings.

Malcolm unfastens his pants, and Jackie helps him into place before tugging them down just below his bottom, taking his underwear down with them. Mal is bent over her lap, with his hands braced on the floor for balance.

“You do not say mean things to the people who love you when you are upset, little one. It only makes you feel worse,” she scolds, giving him a spank.

Gil winces sympathetically as Jackie continues. Mal has already had a reminder about his manners and a real spanking in the past hour, and even light smacks now have to sting. Indeed, his toes started out balanced on the floor, but by the third spank he’s kicking a foot out with each smack.

Jackie gives the poor kid two dozen before she stops, rubbing his back. “We are all finished, my sweet boy,” she tells him, comforting him for a long moment before helping him replace his clothes and slide back down to his knees. He immediately buries his face in her lap, and Gil thinks the kid might be crying, just a little.

“You are forgiven,  _ mi luz _ . I understand how you felt. I will try to make sure I warn you, if there are consequences besides a spanking,  _ before _ I spank you from now on. Though, you do not need a spanking often, anymore. You’ve grown up so much, and I am so proud of the man you are becoming. I’m very proud of you for admitting you made a mistake today, and accepting the consequences. You did very well,” she assures him, keeping up a comforting litany of praise and reassurance until the kid is ready to wipe his face and stand up.

Jackie stands as well, hugging him tightly once they’re on equal footing. They’re the same height, but Mal ducks down to rest his head on her shoulder. She squeezes him close, then turns him gently. “Go talk to your dad, so you know it’s okay,” she tells him- shooting Gil a stern look. He nods. Mal has learned his lesson- Gil doesn’t need to add his own recriminations.

Jackie goes to check the flan, taking it out of the oven as Malcolm slowly approaches him, looking nervous. “No need for the spooked puppy look, kid, we’re good,” Gil assures him. “Mami spanked you and that’s the end of it.” He pulls the kid into a hug, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and soothing the tension out of his posture. Mal sinks into him gratefully.

Gil just holds Mal for a long moment, before pressing a kiss to the top of his head and releasing him. “I think Jackie told us to set the table, kid, and I for one don’t want to wind up on her bad side by disobeying!” he teases.

“Trust me, you really don’t,” Mal assures him earnestly, rubbing his bottom. Gil matter of factly replaces the spoon in its usual spot on the wall as Malcolm retrieves plates. Gil helps by placing the silverware, and soon everything is ready for dinner, and the three of them sit in the living room to wait for the Whitleys, Malcolm tucked closely between his surrogate parents.

Gil wishes he had Jackie’s calm certainty beside him now, as the paramedic finishes examining their kid. Surely, she would know what to do. “Is he okay?” he asks.

“I don’t see any injuries. The other cop was fine, too. He should be okay,” the paramedic assures him.

“See, Gil, I’m fine, it’s no big deal! Can we go work on the profile now? I’ve learned  _ so much _ ,” Malcolm pleads.

“You’re good to go,” the paramedic reiterates, returning to the ambulance.

“I’m going to get another team to process this scene. There’s going to be fallout, Mal- you  _ chopped a man’s hand off _ ,” Gil warns.

“I saved his life,” Malcolm tells him, but he sounds uncertain. They’ve had times where Mal’s grip on the world around him and his decisions was tenuous. Gil doesn’t need to undermine that now.

Screw the team seeing, Gil wraps a hand around the back of his kid’s neck, anchoring him and coaxing him to make eye contact. “You did. You made the right call. JT even told me so.” Gil doesn’t mention what else JT said about the relative  _ sanity _ of that call. “I’m just warning you, things may get ugly. It’s better if somebody besides my guys processes this.”

“I’ve got everything I need from the scene anyway,” Mal assures him, tapping his head.

Gil takes a deep breath. “Okay, kid, let’s go back to the station.” He looks around. “JT is going with Nico, you wait here and I’ll find Dani.”

Dani agrees to drive the squad car they’d taken over back to the precinct and meet them in the office. She’s shocked that Gil is letting their consultant get back to work.

“He was just in an explosion,” she argues. “He chopped a man’s hand off!”

“And both of those things were traumatic, so right now he needs to feel useful. He needs to know we have his back,” Gil instructs her firmly. “JT said it was the right call.”

“He also said it was  _ crazy _ . How far can we trust this guy, Gil?” Dani asks softly.

“As far as we have to go,” Gil assures her, looking up at the lost figure waiting by his car, an outline of dark coat filled with trauma and despair. He  _ won’t _ leave the kid dangling with all of this. His team’s just going to have to get onboard.

“You trust him,” Dani says. “Still.”

“With my life,” Gil tells her, walking away. There’s nothing more he can say, there. She’ll follow his lead or she won’t.

Gil gets Mal into the car and drives them both back to the station. “I want you to clean up before you come back to the meeting room,” Gil tells him. “Take a minute, get the blood and soot off of you. Breathe. C’mon, let’s step through one of your exercises right now. Tell me five things you see.”

“I’m not having an anxiety attack, Gil,” Malcolm grouses.

“No, but your body’s been flooded with adrenaline. It’ll help. Come on,” Gil insists.

“Steering wheel. Crosswalk sign. Drug deal to the left. You. Red light,” Malcolm recites. Gil stops at the light, and Mal continues without prompting, reaching out as he does touch, next. “Door handle. Water bottle. My gloves.” He takes them off, then reaches for Gil’s arm. “You, again.”

“Good, kid, you’re doing great,” Gil tells him.

“I hear the engine. That woman yelling at her kid. Our breathing,” Mal tells him. He’s breathing a little deeper now, a little steadier.

“What do you smell?” Gil asks.

“I smell like explosion. Fire. You smell like leather,” Mal tells him. Gil hands him one of the hard candies he still keeps in his glove box, without comment.

Mal pops it into his mouth. “And I taste… cherry. I thought it was going to be cinnamon,” he tells his dad. “I’m fine. I’m here, and I’m fine.”

“I’m glad,” Gil tells him softly, leaving it at that.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Mal says quietly, after a long moment of silence.

“Kid, it really, truly wasn’t your fault. This case threw you into a dangerous situation, and I’m the one who brought you in on this case,” Gil assures him.

“That doesn’t make you responsible for what the killer does. Even if he does it to me, or I’m collateral damage.” The kid is fully back to himself- and using that psych degree for something more than analyzing killers.

“Try telling your mother that,” Gil jokes lightly.

Mal pales. “Have you told her yet?”

“I haven’t talked to her since she told me where to find you. She doesn’t know about the case at all, or the explosion,” Gil admits. I was going to call her when you guys got back with Nico."

“Look, Gil, I know we don’t lie to mom. I know it’s important that everyone is honest with each other in our family. But I wasn’t  _ in _ the explosion. I was near it. And she’s going to be really upset about the copycat. She doesn’t need any more reasons to worry about me,” Mal points out logically.

If the kid were injured, he’d say no way. If he’d even had trouble coming back to himself, Gil would say this qualified as something Jessica needs to know. But the kid has a point- and as he’s gotten older, things have shifted: sometimes, it’s Gil and Mal protecting Jessica. Jessica and Gil still protect the kids, of course, but they’ve grown up. With Jackie gone, Ainsley and Jessica conspire to protect Gil all the time.

“Okay,” he agrees. “We’ll tell her about the case, and you consulting. But she doesn’t need to know about the details, including the explosion,” Gil agrees.

They’ve arrived back at the station, so Gil sends the kid to clean up, stopping for a hard hug in the privacy of the parking garage. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he tells his kid, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I love you too, Gil,” Mal tells him, and he lets the kid go get cleaned up.


	4. Sleep Disturbances And Serial Killers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm shares what he's learned, sees his father, and tells Jessica what's up. Then, he catches the killer. Somehow, Gil keeps him alive through all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should warn for *not* having spanking in this chapter. Gil's primary concern is always Malcolm, though, and that's not what he needs right now.
> 
> I've decided it's going to be two more chapters, as they deal with fallout and circle back to Malcolm getting fired.
> 
> The scene where Malcolm shares his revised profile, his conversation with Gil about the night terrors, and Gil telling JT and Dani who he is appear here, in part or in full, with my "inside the character's head" look.

Gil goes straight to his boss’ office when they get back to the station, to update him on the explosion. It’s not a  _ great _ situation, but he manages to put a positive spin on it- Malcolm’s quick thinking did save Nico’s life, after all.

Dani is at her desk pulling information from Nico’s financials and phone records to look for someone who might have wanted to do this to him. They aren’t sure yet if he was an intentional victim or a tool in the killer’s plot. Hopefully, they’ll know more once Malcolm has integrated the new information from the scene into his profile.

Meanwhile, Gil writes up what they know so far about the explosion. JT emails in a statement, and Gil is relieved to see it matches what he said at the scene about Bright having made the right call. The city can handle a lawsuit. They get sued all the time, by victims or witnesses as well as suspects, and Nico definitely has more of a case than some. But Malcolm  _ cannot _ handle an Internal Affairs investigation- and as a consultant, they might just pull his consulting status, rather than investigate.

When Malcolm’s frantic energy seems to be slowing down some, Gil calls him into his office. “You about ready to head home?” he asks.

“I’m  _ onto _ something here, Gil. Let me finish, and present what we know. Then, if that doesn’t spark any new leads, I’ll go home,” Malcolm pleads.

“Kid,” Gil sighs, hesitant.

“You’re not leaving,” Mal points out. Gil is about to remind him he wasn’t in the explosion, when the kid adds, “Don’t you want me somewhere you can keep an eye on me?”

It’s a good point. “I could have Sunshine report in,” Gil teases.

“Nah, she’s on my side. I bribe her with fruit,” Mal assures him.

“So do I. I think she might be playing us against each other,” Gil laughs.

Mal turns serious. “Look, Gil. I can’t get this out of my head until I’ve got it down on paper. If you send me home, I’m just going to keep thinking about the profile and working on it. I can’t shut it off.”

Gil sighs. “Okay. You’ve got half an hour to finish organizing your thoughts. Then you present to the team, and after that you’re  _ going home _ .”

Malcolm nods reluctantly. “Fine,” he agrees, rushing back to the conference room where he’s pouring over evidence, laying it all out in some new and complex way that only makes sense to him.

Half an hour later when it’s time for Malcolm to share his updated profile, JT is still at the hospital. Gil makes the judgement call that it’s worth it to get Malcolm out and tells him to go ahead and share with Dani and him. Malcolm is more calm, now- having the profile to focus his energy on has helped. Gil is relieved by how well the kid is bouncing back from the shock- sometimes Malcolm is more resilient than he gives him credit for.

“What have you got for us, Bright?” Gil says, sitting back to let the kid work.

“Our killer’s motive is revenge. He wants to inflict as much pain as humanly possible. That’s why he’s using the Surgeon’s Quartet. It was an experiment to find the most agonizing way to kill someone.” This is all very fascinating, but not the kind of revelation that’s going to give them a perp. Useful for interrogation, but not much help in getting someone in to interrogate.

“That’s motive. What else?” Gil asks neutrally. He knows Mal will have more for him.

“He’s white, maybe forty maybe fifty, rich, likely bald, and a romantic.” The whimsy of the last almost makes Gil smile, so he covers it with his coffee cup. The kid’s got a flair for the details. The crazy part is, Gil absolutely believes he’s right.

Malcolm’s phone rings and he silences it immediately. Gil spares a moment to wonder whose calls he’s avoiding. Jessica, probably. She’d mentioned dinner tonight. Gil is very glad he begged off already- Malcolm can probably keep from spilling the beans about the explosion, but his own over-protective worry would be obvious a mile away.

Dani interrupts. “Go back. How do you know that he’s bald?” she asks skeptically.

“Well, I don’t,” Malcolm admits. “But his psychology implies dysmorphia. He hates his own body. Yet we saw an imposing man at Nicos’s. So I’m thinking bald,” he adds, proud of himself.

Malcolm’s phone chimes again, a text this time. He frowns as he reads it.

“Anything else to add? I wouldn’t want to keep you,” Gil says.

“The killer is a sadist. Given what we know about how he chose his victims, it’s likely he’s a dominant in the BDSM scene or wishes to be one. These women are the kind of submissives he wants, but they choose men like Nico instead of him. He feels betrayed by that choice. Maybe by a woman who chose Nico specifically,” Malcolm explains.

“So Nico is part of his pattern?” Dani asks.

“Nico is where he broke from the Surgeon’s script. That bomb took a lot of work, and a lot of skill. But it also took a lot of  _ hate _ . He tortured Nico- but emotionally, not physically. He didn’t get the same release he got hurting the women, psychologically torturing Nico. That was about jealousy. Of who Nico is, or who he’s been with- we don’t know yet,” Malcolm explains.

“I’ll check in with Vice, see if we have any connections with local BDSM clubs that might give us a lead,” Dani suggests.

“Sounds good,” Gil tells her. “Bright, get out of here. You’ve given us enough to work with for now.”

Gil can’t help worrying when Malcolm doesn’t argue, just gathers up his things. He follows him out.

“Everything okay?” Gil asks the kid.

“Fine. Mom wanted to have dinner tonight. She’s got Ainsley, who is requesting backup. You coming?” Mal asks.

“Can’t. With you and JT having just been blown up, Dani and I need to run things down tonight. Then we’ll all meet back up tomorrow, fresh,” Gil assures the kid.

“You’re going to let me keep working this?” Mal asks, hopeful.

“I said I would. You remember the rules?” Gil asks searchingly.

“He’s differentiated himself. That helps,” Malcolm assures him. Gil raises an eyebrow. “I let Dani and JT go in first!” Mal assures him.

“And  _ didn’t _ get out of there when things went bad,” Gil points out.

“It was a crisis. I have crisis training. It took over,” Malcolm assures him.

“I don’t think the FBI usually teaches its agents to remove vic’s body parts,” Gil teases.

“You’d be surprised,” Malcolm tells him, smiling.

“And what’s our other rule?” Gil presses.

“Don’t work the case alone,” Malcolm sighs. “Seriously, Gil. I finished updating my profile. Unless you or Dani finds a lead or we get another body, I’ve got nothing to add right now.”

“Good. Now, about your mother,” Gil tells him.

“The explosion didn’t happen,” Mal assures him.

“ _ Not _ what I was going to say. I will be very unhappy if I find out you’ve lied to her. If she asks what you’ve been up to, tell her you’re working with me. Or do you want me to call her and fill her in, so she has a second to adjust to the idea? I assume you’re going home to change first,” Gil asks.

“No, I’ve got it. If you call her, it’ll just give her time to plan her attack.” Malcolm shudders. “She’s going to kill us.”

“The way I see it, you were already profiling. At least when you’re profiling with me, I have some chance of keeping you in one piece,” Gil tells him.

“This has  _ not _ been my most boring day on the job,” Malcolm teases.

“I’ll make sure tomorrow’s nice and dull for ya.” Gil wraps a hand around the back of the kid’s neck. “Now get outta here, kid.” he says, pulling him close for just an instant before releasing him.

Malcolm goes, grinning, and Gil gets back to work.

****

He’s still working when his phone rings, a couple hours later. Dani has turned up a couple of possible CIs from contacts in Vice, and she’d gone home after leaving messages and setting up meets. Which means he’s alone in his office when the phone rings. Seeing that it’s Jessica, he closes his office door anyway, so none of the uniforms in the bullpen can overhear.

“What in  _ God’s name _ where you thinking, Gil?” she asks as soon as he picks up.

“That he needed a purpose. You know what it does to him to just sit around spinning his wheels. You  _ asked _ me to check on him,” Gil reminds her gently.

“There’s a difference in  _ checking on him _ and  _ hiring him _ ,” Jessica snaps. He can tell she’s been drinking, so he decides to cut to the chase. They can fight about this later.

“Ainsley’s investigating too. He was going to find out, and he was going to get involved. At least this way, he’s with me,” Gil tells her sharply.

“Gil,” Jessica breathes, and the fear in her voice burns him.

“I know, Jess, I know. I wish we could keep them safe from it all. But I’m damn proud they’re as good as they are. Born investigators, both of them, in different ways. And I won’t let him do anything crazy. I’ve got a good team. We’ve got his back,” Gil assures her.

“I suppose it’s also good to know you’ll be there as Ainsley is reporting,” Jessica says reluctantly,

“At the moment, it looks like Mal’s leaning toward the guy being obsessed with the method, not the Surgeon himself. It looks like he was after the most painful way possible to kill them, and he discovered the Surgeon. Not like he’s got any connection or interest in Martin,” Gil assures her.

“Does Ainsley fit the  _ victim profile _ ?” Jessica spits the words at him, still angry.

“She’s too young. And they’re all involved in a particular subculture that I assure you she isn’t a member of,” Gil reassures her gently. “Ainsley’s safe, Jess. You know I’d have called you and her the second I thought one of her investigations might be putting her in the path of something.”

In fact he’s done it before, only a year ago. He pulled Ainsley off the scene of a murder, trading her quotes for reporting from another location, because their killer seemed to be stalking the crime scenes and had a thing for career women. He’d also escorted her home to Jessica’s every night and slept in a spare bedroom, ready to protect them both. He’s never told Jessica he recovered a blurry photo of Ainsley on TV doing one of her reports when they caught the guy. But if there is one thing Gil doesn’t take chances with, it’s his family’s safety.

“Our protector,” Jessica says softly. She’s calming down, thankfully.

“Always,” he assures her. “I’ll keep them safe.”

“I hate it, Gil,” Jessica tells him sadly.

“I know, Jess. But we have to let them grow up. And profiling is the choice Mal’s made for himself. He said something the other day… I think it helps, feeling like he’ doing something good to make up for all the bad Martin did,” Gil tells her.

“He called me when he caught is 23rd killer. Several years ago,” Jessica tells him.

  1. The number of victims attributed to the Surgeon. 



“Jess,” Gil says, stunned. He hadn’t known.

“It’s not his  _ fault _ ,” she tells him.

“Gabrielle told us years ago he’d taken responsibility as a coping mechanism. It’s like OCD. If he  _ does something _ to help, he believes he has some control, and it helps with the PTSD,” Gil reminds her.

“Not lately. I don’t think he’s sleeping at all,” Jessica tells him.

“I’ll drop in and check on him tonight,” Gil promises.

“Stakeout?” she teases.

Gil remembers so many nights driving around with a young Malcolm. It had begun when the kid had begged to help catch bad guys- they’d ‘stake out’ a building somewhere quiet, and work on observation. The therapists had told them anchoring Malcolm in the here and now would help with the PTSD. Eventually, he’d fall asleep in the car. And if he  _ did _ have a nightmare, Gil was right there, and the seatbelt kept him from running. There had been a few bad weeks where those stakeouts were the only sleep the kid got.

As Mal had gotten older, really understanding more of what Gil did, he’d taken him along on a few actual stakeouts- information gathering ones only, always with patrol cars nearby in case anything went wild and he needed someone to pursue. Though there were a few times Jessica doesn’t know about, when opportunity had fallen into his lap and he’d arrested a perp with Mal waiting in his car. He’d always called the uniforms to haul the guys back to the station before taking Malcolm home.

“Worth a shot,” Gil tells her, hearing the smile in his own voice. Some of his most precious memories involve that little boy asleep beside him in the car.

“He always loved them,” Jessica says, and he knows she’s remembering the same nights- Gil carrying a sleeping Malcolm, far too small for his age, back into the house and tucking him into bed, sticking his head in to make sure Ainsley was okay and, on the really bad nights, checking all of the doors and windows and easing a glass out of Jessica’s hand before he went home.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Jessica muses, after a moment. “And if he was going to turn out like one of his father figures, I’m certainly glad it was you and not  _ him _ .”

“He could never have-” Gil says, shocked.

“I didn’t mean like that,” she tells him. “I just… I worried, when he majored in psychology, that he was going to go into medicine. Become part of the system Martin ruled. Frightening as it is, I was relieved when he went into profiling instead of clinical practice.”

“That’s something, at least,” Gil agrees, privately surprised. She’d certainly seemed upset at the time. Malcolm had been so hurt by her reaction when he applied to Quantico he’d been driven out of the house and to the Arroyo’s for several days. Not even Jackie had been able to coax him to talk to his mother, at first.

“Why couldn’t he have been an investment banker?” Jessica laments. “Ainsley could’ve… I don’t know, sold real estate! No, too many strange men. A lawyer? Too many criminals. Ainsley should’ve just been a model,” she decides.

“An investment banker and a model,” Gil imagines. Jessica sounds like she’s winding down. She’s gotten the first wave of upset out of her system, though he’s sure they’ll fight more about this later. For now, he’s relieved that she’s calm.

“Every mother’s dream. Pretty daughter, wealthy son,” Jessica tells him.

“Well, you’ve got that. And they’re terrific people, too,” Gil reminds her.

“We did well with them, didn’t we?” Jess asks. Sober, he doubts she would ever have used that ‘we’. As much as Jess had needed and relied on Gil and Jackie, she’d always been a little afraid of their place in the kids’ lives, and what that meant for her.

“We did,” Gil agrees softly.

“I think I’m going to have a nightcap and turn in, Gil.” Jessica sounds tired. Gil resists the urge to suggest she stick to tea.

“Sleep well,” he tells her gently.

“You, too. And Gil, you keep my babies safe out there. And keep yourself safe, too,” she orders, hanging up.

Gil smiles, shaking his head. Jessica Whitley is quite a woman. He’s in awe of her, as much as he wants to protect her.

Gil gathers up his jacket, ready to go home. He’ll check on Mal, who is probably reeling from his own fight with his mother, then catch a few hours of sleep and be back in by morning.

Malcolm doesn’t answer his phone. Gil calls Ainsley before driving to the loft- she may know where her brother is.

“Hey, Gil. Listen, I’m really sorry, I told Mom about you and Malcolm working together,” she tells him before he can say anything.

“I told  _ him _ to tell her. Offered to call her myself, first. I told him we weren’t keeping this a secret,” Gil assures her. “You did the right thing. Keeping secrets-”

“From family is never okay. Families need to trust each other,” Ainsley finishes for him.

“Also, your mother will kill us if we try to keep her out of the loop,” Gil adds with a smile.

“I believe she could,” Ainsley says. “Listen, is Malcolm with you? He was pretty upset when he left. He said he was going to go get some sleep, I was hoping he was headed to your house.”

“If he was, he didn’t text me, but I’m only just leaving the station,” Gil tells her. It would hardly be the first time Malcolm has let himself in- he’s got a key for a reason.

“Listen, sweetheart, how are you holding up?” Gil adds, hearing the stress in her voice.

“He told me about the copycat,” Ainsley said. Gil hesitates, wanting to tell her not to run it, but knowing how much she prides herself on getting the story. He’ll have to talk to Malcolm about making sure he tells his sister they’re  _ all the way off the record _ before talking about cases. She and Gil have a similar deal- but he knows if he ever  _ doesn’t _ remember to invoke it, she’ll broadcast what he tells her. It won’t be good for Malcolm, especially after today, to be traced as a leak within the NYPD. Though Gil supposes no one else knows Ainsley Whitley, Investigative Reporter, is Mal’s sister.

“I looked at the information that’s been released, and compared it to what was released about the Quartet at the time. There’s enough that I could’ve pieced it together on my own, if I had considered the possibility. I’ll keep his name out of it,” Ainsley assures him.

“I appreciate your discretion,” Gil tells her. “Now answer my question- especially knowing that, how are you holding up?”

“Mom’s gone to bed, and I’m still sitting in her living room because I don’t want to get into a taxi with a strange man driving right now,” Ainsley tells him bluntly. She does better talking about actions than feelings- a major way she and her brother differ.

“It’s the first time Dr. Whitley has ever directly touched my work. People have made comparisons, but…” she trails off.

“I know. You want a ride home?” he offers. This is how he comforts Ainsley. She won’t fall apart on him, or beg for reassurance. But a steady presence, checking for threats, she’ll accept.

“I’d like that, Gil,” she says, and he points the Le Mans toward Jessica’s.

They talk about the network while he drives her home- Ainsley is making the kinds of connections that get her a scoop on big crimes, and the network is letting her chase them down more often. She’d started on society pieces, until she broke a scandal when a wealthy investment banker who lived a few blocks from her mother had caused an accident driving drunk and tried to flee the scene. She has a flair for crime reporting, and an ability to look at the horror without letting it touch her that makes her excellent at her job.

Gil doesn’t say anything as he parks near Ainsley’s apartment, just walks her in, checking closets and windows as she settles in, just as he has for her mother so many times. “You’re good,” he tells her, leaning over to press a kiss to her head where she’s sprawled on her couch with a glass of wine.

“Thank you, Gil. I know it’s silly, but I feel better,” she tells him.

“Nothing silly about that. I’m always here for you, Ains,” Gil promises.

“I know,” she agrees, getting up to lock the door behind him.

She fastens the chain and he tests it, just to be sure, telling her, “Sleep tight,” once he’s sure the door’s locked. It’s an old routine, and he feels better for having seen her home safe as much as she feels better knowing he’s got her home safe.

Time to check on Malcolm again. Gil  _ really _ hopes the kid isn’t asleep, as he calls his cell. “Bright!” Malcolm answers on the second ring.

“Just me, kid,” Gil tells him. “I hope I didn’t wake you up?”

“No,” Gil hears background noise and wonders where the kid is.

“You home?” he asks.

“I’m at the loft,” Malcolm says. He’s been skirting calling the building home- Gil privately wonders if that means he’s planning on leaving again soon.

“Sounds noisy,” Gil says pointedly.

There’s a moment of silence, punctuated by a car horn. “You caught me,” Malcolm admits. “I just got here. I was… a little keyed up, after dinner.”

“Malcolm,  _ tell _ me you didn’t walk home,” Gil requests. The kid has gone for late night walks before, no matter how many times Gil tells him it isn’t safe to be wandering the streets alone and lost in thought after ten o’clock at night.

“I didn’t walk home,” Malcolm assures him. The kid sounds shifty, so Gil isn’t surprised when he adds, “I did walk around for a while, but not all the way home.”

“You should’ve stayed at your mom’s, I could’ve dropped you off when I got Ainsley,” Gil tells him.

“She made you drive all the way over just to take her home?” Malcolm asks.

“She  _ let me _ see my girl home, so I knew she was safe,” Gil corrects.

“She’s shaken up too. I told her about the copycat,” Malcolm admits.

“I heard. Kid, you’ve got to make sure you tell your sister  _ not to broadcast _ things you tell her as family. It’s not fair for us to constantly be sharing details with her and get upset if she runs with them,” Gil tells him.

“Shit, Gil, I didn’t think,” Malcolm admits. “I was just thinking about her as Ains, not a reporter,” he explains.

“Well, these days she’s both. She says enough has been published that she could’ve worked it out herself, so she won’t mention where she got the scoop,” Gil reassures the kid. “I told her and Jessica that the connection wasn’t going to put her on a target list, based on what you’ve said. Do we need to worry?”

“No. Frankly mom’s closer to the type, but she’s not blonde, and not submissive,” Mal assures him. “His victim selection has nothing to do with the original quartet or my father.”

“Okay. Good. Enough shop talk, kid. You want me to come over?” Gil offers.

“I really am just going to go to sleep, Gil. I’ll probably be in early in the morning,” Malcolm assures him. “I’d like to try to get a couple of hours.”

Gil hears the evasion in his tone, and assumes it’s got to do with all the sleep the kid  _ hasn’t _ been getting. “Make sure you get some rest,” he tells him.

“You, too,” Malcolm agrees, ending the call.

Gil drives home, glad to know that, for tonight at least, his family is safe.

***

Of course, the next morning everything blows up in his face before he’s even had a cup of coffee. FID pulls him in the second he walks in the door, to talk about the explosion. Luckily, his report, JT’s statement, Mal’s own statement, and the evidence tells the same story- the bomb was remotely detonated, right around when Dani lost the suspect. The welds on the chair actually survived the explosion in places, so the team agrees with JT’s assessment that Bright’s strategy had been the only one they had.

And all of that would be a relief, if they didn’t also have evidence for him. At first, he just looks at the metal tubes, unsure what he’s seeing. Then, they pull out the drawings inside. Only one man can have drawn these. Gil curses himself for ever letting Malcolm near this case. He considers telling him to go home pending the FID investigation, and lying to him about how long it’s lasting. But he told the kid last night he wouldn’t pull him off the case, and Gil’s many things, but he’s never been a good enough liar to fool Mal.

He takes the drawings back to his office and immediately shoves the tubes into a box. He hasn’t seen Malcolm yet this morning- maybe he can show JT and Dani the tubes without telling Mal. Except the profile is only as good as the data- Malcolm can’t do them any good if Gil is keeping him in the dark, and he won’t forgive the breach of trust if he finds out. Not about this.

Gil has made his bed, and he supposes he’ll have to lie in it. And, somehow, keep Malcolm away from his father, even with this news. He’ll go see Dr. Whitley himself. The man hates him, of course- blames Gil for ‘stealing his family’. But he’ll grovel as much as necessary to keep Malcolm out of the lion’s den.

He’s beginning to formulate a plan when he hears a commotion from the hall outside the conference room. He rushes out of his office to hear Dani screaming, but he can’t see her through all of the officers standing between them, guns drawn.

As he’s drawing his own weapon, he realizes she’s yelling, “He’s asleep,” and he immediately holsters his gun, feeling sick. He never would’ve raised it, when he saw who she’s on the ground with, but the idea that he drew it walking toward  _ Malcolm _ makes him sick. As does seeing his coworkers point their weapons at his kid.

“Lower your weapons,” he barks, making everyone jump. Luckily, every officer on this floor trusts his judgement- the guns come down, and Gil gets a look at Malcolm’s wide eyed, terrified face over Dani’s shoulder. He’s clinging to her, obviously only just waking up.

“Everybody okay?” he asks his team as JT walks forward, making a path through the uniforms.

“Fine. We’re fine. It’s fine,” Dani tells him.

“‘M good,” Malcolm assures him, but he’s still got a white knuckled grip on Dani.

“With me, Bright,” he says matter of factly. He promised not to tell anyone who Mal is to him, so he needs to get his kid alone where he can check on him.

“Gil, can I have a word?” Dani asks.

“Sure. Of course. Bright, take a walk, breathe, and I’ll see you in a second,” Gil recommends, helping them both to their feet. He reaches into his pocket for a hard candy, glad he’d brought some in with him, passing it to Mal as he helps him up. Malcolm’s eyes flicker, surprised, then he nods slightly, knowing Gil wants him to do his countdown exercise.

Gil is prepared to defend Bright to Dani, so he’s surprised when she closes the door to his office and immediately tells him, “It wasn’t his fault, Gil.”

He leans against his desk and asks her, “What happened?”

“I heard noises… like a scared kid. I was headed to the conference room to check them out when he came out running. He wasn’t even awake. That was a hell of a nightmare,” Dani says, shaking her head. “Gil, he almost got blown up yesterday.”

If  _ only _ that were what’s wrong with Malcolm. Gil has a lot of questions- like what his kid was doing asleep in the conference room at eight am to  _ have _ a nightmare, but Dani won’t know the answers. So instead, he nods.

“I’ll make sure he’s okay,” he tells her, and she smiles, opening the door. JT is keeping a wary eye on Malcolm as he paces the hall, but he looks over to focus on his partner instead as Gil calls, “Bright!”

Malcolm comes immediately, and Gil is about to close the door to his office when JT calls, “Gil.” He looks up, and his partner is looking at the door pointedly- a silent request. Dani may not blame Mal for what just happened, but JT is clearly unwilling to risk another member of his team being alone with him, just yet. Gil nods, leaving the door open.

He puts a supportive hand on the back of Mal’s neck as he crosses back around to his desk, worried. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you have a nightmare that bad,” he says quietly.

“They’re called pavor nocturnus,” Malcolm corrects, retreating into facts to anchor himself in the present. “Night terrors. And they’re not fun.” He’s speaking a bit too loudly, and it takes Gil a second to catch on. With the door open, he wants to make sure the rest of the team hears this, so if anyone is listening they know it wasn’t intentional.

Gil nods in agreement. “But on the bright side,” Gil smiles at the pun, “they’re ruining my life.” Gil wants to ask how long they’ve been this bad, if this is what went wrong with the FBI, if he’s been sleeping this badly for weeks or months or if coming home has done this to him. If  _ helping Gil _ has done this to him.

Malcolm looks out to where JT and Daniels are checking on Dani. “I didn’t hurt her, did I?” he asks softly, guilty.

When he was thirteen and Ainsley was seven, she’d tried to wake him up from a nightmare after he’d fallen asleep on the couch. He’d split her lip when he sat up suddenly, headbutting her. He hadn’t been able to fall asleep anywhere but Gil’s car for nearly a week. Mal never really took naps if he could help it, but when he’s been pushing this hard, sometimes his body just forces the matter. Gil wonders if the kid got any sleep last night at all. He resolves to ask him later, privately. Because if Mal came in before the rest of the team and shut himself up with the crime board, they’re going to need to have a chat.

For now, he focuses on reassuring the kid. “Don’t flatter yourself. Dani’s from the Bronx. Tougher than both of us.” It’s true. To get through what happened when she was under with Vice, she’d had to be incredibly strong. Gil’s faith in her fills his words, and he knows Malcolm hears it.

Malcolm sits back and nods, remembering what Gil had told him. “Like Jackie.”

Gil smiles for him. “Yeah. Bronx girl.” But he can’t help playing with his ring. It’s days like today- when Mal is going off the rails, the investigation is getting more and more tense, and his team and his family need him more than ever- that Gil misses Jackie desperately. He’d gone through life so long with her as a partner, it’s hard not having her to turn to now. Sure, he’s got JT as a partner at work, Jessica as a co-parent with the kids, but no one who’s just  _ got his back _ , no matter what, who he knows he can count on to help solve any problem. He loves Mal dearly and knows the kid would do anything for him, loves Ainsley and Jessica and his team, and he’s grateful every day to have them all in his life. But it’s not the same as having that one person you know you can count on to weather any storm with you, and get you through it. She’d been the strong one, in their marriage. Though she’d said the same of him. They'd been each other's strength.

For now, he refocuses on Malcolm. “She loved you like family,” he reminds the kid. He’s not above a little emotional manipulation, here-  _ Jackie wouldn’t want this _ . Mal ducks his head, acknowledging the truth of the statement. “Worried about you every time you went to go see your father,” he reminds Mal, anchoring him in that thought- that Martin Whitley is not good or safe for him, and as precarious as Mal’s mental state seems to be right now, he needs to be nowhere near him.

Malcolm can sense where he’s headed with this, and sits up, smile going fake as he reassures him before he can say more. “Don’t worry, Gil. I’m fine. I got it under control.”

Gil knows how important his independence is to Malcolm. How much the kid wants to be trusted to handle things himself. So he tries not to openly scoff as he asks, “Under control? You chopped off a man’s hand, a maniac is copying your father’s murders, and six cops nearly shot you right over there. You are anything but  _ in control _ ,” he says firmly. This case has put Malcolm in a situation beyond his control, internally  _ and _ externally.

One of the hardest parts of dealing with Mal’s PTSD as he’s gotten older has been respecting the kid’s ability to handle what he can, while pulling him back from the things he just can’t cope with. Gil’s thinking having nightmares at the station is a pretty clear sign that they’ve hit Malcolm’s breaking point. And he doesn’t even know about the drawings yet.

Malcolm’s whole posture has gone recalcitrant. “What does that mean? You agree with the FBI?” It’s not quite an accusation, but Gil hears the betrayal in the words.

“I’ve known you for twenty years, you’re on edge,” he reminds Mal. He knows the kid better than his old bosses ever could’ve- he’s no psychopath, no narcissist. He’s no danger to anyone but himself. Which is what scares Gil so damn much. They’ve weathered these storms together before, but the first step has to be Mal admitting he’s out of his depth. Gil can’t throw him a life jacket if Mal just keeps pushing them away.

“You’re right,” Malcolm agrees, but it’s his negotiating voice. The kid’s too worried about losing his place on the case to really hear what Gil’s saying. He’s got to get him alone. “There’s a fourth victim out there, and I can save her. I’ll do whatever it takes,” he insists, desperate to convince his mentor.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Gil admits softly, more to Malcolm than to himself. He won’t sacrifice his kid to this case. He can’t.

Malcolm suddenly flips into profiler mode, and Gil inwardly curses. He’s given too much away. There’ll be no reasoning with Malcolm until he knows everything. “You’ve found something,” Mal announces, sitting back to examine him like he’s a suspect. “What is it?”

Gil feels pinned under Malcolm’s all-seeing profiler glare. He’ll never get anything past the kid like this, so he doesn’t even try. He sighs, wishing the kid would just  _ trust him _ for once, and turns to get the box. Malcolm stands as he sets it on his desk.

“FID pulled these out of Nico’s apartment,” Gil tells him, taking out the tubes. He steels himself. “Open it,” he says, handing Mal one of the pieces of metal.

Mal pulls out the drawing, staring at it. He looks at Gil searchingly, opening another. “These sketches show the first three methods from the Quartet,” he says, shooting Gil another glance, trying to read the truth of the situation in his face. He opens the third one and looks at Gil for a long moment as the reality sinks in. “My father drew these,” he says, and Gil hates the desperation in his voice.

“Yeah, I know,” Gil whispers. “But how did our killer get them? Your dad’s still locked up at Claremont Psychiatric,” Gil reminds them both. The two cases are officially linked, their killer and Martin Whitley. Gil braces for the fallout. If Mal was having nightmares before…

“Well, I’ll ask him,” Malcolm says. The words are a quiet challenge, but they’re steady. He’s determined.

Gil immediately denies him. “No. I’m not letting you go back there. There’s got to be another way,” he insists. His kid’s a genius. He’s got to be able to think of  _ something _ else.

“There isn’t,” Mal insists, shaking his head. “He’ll only talk to me.” Malcolm is heading off the suggestion he knows Gil will make, and Gil hates it but knows the kid is right. If he goes in instead of Mal, Dr. Whitley will lie to them or clam up just to spite him.

Gil leans forward on the desk, looking at Malcolm. The determination, the fear, the way his hand is trembling…. “I can’t let you do this, Bright,” he tells him, trying to sound more like a determined boss than a terrified dad.

“I’m not asking,” Malcolm whispers, looking as scared as he is sure.

Gil knows pushing won’t help. If he refuses, Malcolm will just go rogue, and then he’ll be alone to deal with the fallout. It’s the same reason they let him see his father when he was younger- Malcolm is not going to let this go. It’s a lesson Gil first absorbed when he was learning to safely restrain the child version during night terrors and flashbacks- holding him down too tight will just lead to Mal hurting himself worse trying to get free. Sometimes, it’s better to loosen his grip so he’s ready to catch the kid when he goes to pieces, rather than risking being the one to shatter him.

They look at each other for a long moment, Malcolm’s determined blue eyes meeting his own. The kid doesn’t waver, or back down. “I’m driving,” Gil decides.

“You can’t come in,” Mal tells him. “He hates you. Thinks you stole me. If he knows you’re with me, he’ll be so focused on his imaginary battle with  _ you _ I won’t have any chance of getting anything useful out of him.”

Gil knows it’s true. “I’ll wait in the car.”

They get their coats, and Gil carefully doesn’t touch Malcolm as they leave the office. The kid is slipping into his game face, getting ready to face his father. It’s like a chess match between them, the laser eyes of the student and the practiced manipulations of the master. But Malcolm has only gotten better at ferreting out the truth since he saw his father last. Gil just hopes this visit doesn’t break him.

“Where are you going?” JT asks when they stride purposefully through the bullpen.

“Claremont psychiatric,” Mal tells them. “We’re going to see the Surgeon.”

JT’s eyes widen and he steps back. “We’ll call you if we get anything,” Gil assures him and Dani, hurrying to catch up to Malcolm.

“Kid, are you sure you should be doing this?” Gil asks once they’re in the car.

“I’m sure we haven’t got a choice,” Malcolm tells him firmly.

“You… this morning you what, came in, fell asleep, and immediately had a nightmare? Did you get any sleep last night?” Gil asks. “You’re run ragged. You nearly got  _ blown up _ yesterday.”

“I got a few hours before the nightmare hit,” Malcolm tells him.

Gil is reassured, until he realizes what that means. “Kid, did you sleep in the conference room?”

“Not intentionally. I was staring at the board, trying to figure out what led our killer to my father’s work. I fell asleep. I remembered… he taught me some of the science behind what he did, with the Quartet. About nerve pathways,” Malcolm admits. " _ Before _ he was caught "

“Malcolm,” Gil asks sternly, “What did we agree about you working the case?”

“I’m a consultant, I follow your lead, I remember it’s not my father, and…” Malcolm takes a breath. “Gil, can we do this later? Please? I’m about to have to face him. I need to know you’ve got my back, that you believe I can do this.”

Gil takes a slow breath. “Kid, you can do anything. You amaze me every day. And you know I’ve got your back through whatever happens, in there or anywhere else.”

“Thanks, Gil. You’re my… my anchor,” Malcolm swallows. “You’ll keep me grounded.”

“You’re going to be fine, kid,” Gil tells him. Martin Whitley has never met grown up, profiler Malcolm. He’s not going to know what hit him. Gil tries to put that confidence into his words.

Waiting in the car is torture. He wanted to say screw Whitley, he was coming in, but he knew that Malcolm was right. This will only be harder if Dr. Whitley sees him. And Malcolm needs to feel like Gil trusts him to do this without shattering. So, no matter how hard it is, he stays in the car and resists the urge to hug Mal before he goes in.

When the kid comes back half an hour later with a folder, Gil gets out of the car to look him over carefully, checking him for signs of stress. Malcolm is steady, which paradoxically worries Gil. Mal can get to a place where he’s so overwhelmed he just… shuts it all down for a while. It’s terrifying- Gil always worries they won’t get him back. And when that shell breaks… it’s devastating, for Malcolm and the people who love him.

But he’s already thrown up the walls. Trying to break them down now isn’t going to help. Instead, he holds out his hand for the file. “Carter Berkhead?” he asks, reading it.

“He’s our perp. Dr. Whitley treated him. He removed the pages from a journal Dr. Whitley kept,” Mal tells him flatly.

“Okay, we’ll start working on a warrant when we get back to the station.” Malcolm breathes a little easier at Gil’s easy acceptance of his theory. “First, food,” he orders, and Mal tenses again.

“Gil,” he says, a hint of a whine showing through his rigid facade.

“You eat yet today?” Gil knows the answer. “And I know last night was more drama than dinner,” Gil tells him. “You eat something now, and I  _ won’t _ ask too many questions about how you came to be sleeping in the conference room,” Gil compromises. He knows that even though he agreed to handle it later, that little bit of misbehavior is probably weighing on the kid, worrying when Gil’s going to bring it up.

“Even once we close the case?” Mal asks, his voice small.

“Yeah, kid. You take care of yourself now, and I’ll give you a pass on not doing it last night,” Gil agrees.

“Gil…” Mal practically whimpers it, and Gil’s afraid of what he’s going to say next. “I was on my way to the station, when we talked last night. I was there all night,” he admits. “I lied about sleeping at the loft because I knew you wouldn’t let me go back to work. I saw how scared mom was, and I just… I had to fix it. I only went home to feed Sunshine. I knew I wasn’t going to sleep.”

This is hardly the first time Malcolm has done something ridiculous he knew he shouldn’t do in the aftermath of a fight with his mother. He tries desperately to earn her forgiveness when she’s upset, but usually in ways she’ll never know about, or understand or approve of. This one holds true to pattern- in attempting to please her, he’s done the exact opposite of what she wanted.

Gil takes a deep breath. “Okay, kid. I get why you were wound up, and why you wanted to make progress. But falling asleep at the station put you and the team at risk. And lying to me is never okay, but especially when we’re on a case- it’s twice as important that I can trust you, when we’re working, because what we do is dangerous.” He cuts himself off before he can add that he never would’ve let Malcolm near Dr. Whitley if he’d known. The kid did manage to get what they need without falling apart- Gil doesn’t need to undermine that now.

“So we’ll compromise. You agree to eat at least once a day- real food, not just jello- and come home with me at night till this case is over, and we’ll let last night go,” Gil tells him.

“So I’m grounded?” Malcolm asks.

“No. You’re taking care of yourself. You need food, and you need sleep. And you always sleep better at my place,” Gil tells him. “You know you can come over any time you’re having a hard time sleeping.”

“Gil, that would just be  _ moving in _ ,” Malcolm tells him, scandalized.

“You can do that, too,” Gil says easily.

“I’m fine,” Mal tells him automatically, then takes a breath. “You mean it? About forgiving me for last night?” he asks hesitantly.

“I do. You made a bad choice last night, and I want you to make better ones today. You do that, and we’re square,” Gil tells him gently.

“I’m in bad shape, if you’re letting lying to you go,” Malcolm realizes worriedly.

“No, you’re holding yourself together in a bad  _ situation _ . And I’m balancing our rules and what you need. You told me the truth about last night, and you knew you shouldn’t have done it. Right now, you’re holding things together for yourself, and me trying to take too much control will only unbalance you,” Gil tells him.

“Thank you,” Malcolm tells him softly. He’s still a little remote, mostly through a shutdown sequence that will get them a very brilliant, very analytical robot in place of Bright for the duration. Gil knows it’s a coping mechanism, but that doesn’t make him hate it any less.

They stop for chinese for the team, and Malcolm eats egg drop soup and a little bit of chicken fried rice. Gil will take it. They all work together to compile information for the warrant- JT and Dani are surprised Malcolm got enough information out of the Surgeon to ID their guy, but when it’s clear Gil trusts the lead, they put aside other avenues of inquiry without complaint.

Unfortunately, the warrant gets kicked back for lack of evidence. They’re going after a powerful man. JT puts together a photo lineup including Berkhead, and he and Gil head to the hospital to get an ID once Nico wakes up- he's been sedated and unavailable for questions all day. It’s too late to get a warrant tonight, so Gil tells Dani and Malcolm to go home. They’ll pick up first thing in the morning.

Dani promises to go as soon as she finishes tying up a few leads, and Malcolm agrees without a fuss, saying he’s going to go feed Sunshine. Gil offers to pick him up at his apartment and they leave, headed in opposite directions.

Nico wakes up right after they arrive, and he takes one look at the lineup and says, “That’s Blair’s husband!”

JT and Gil are out of the hospital room in a flash. Gil has a text from Dani, saying she’s found an event the Berkheads are hosting that evening and she and Malcolm are going to check it out. Gil calls her, but she doesn’t pick up. He tries Malcolm next.

“Bright, we’re at the hospital. Nico just woke up. Carter’s wife Blair was one of Nico’s clients,” he tells the kid. If he and Dani really did go to confront Carter at some kind of party, they need to know what they’re getting into.

“She was cheating on her husband with another dom,” Malcolm realizes. “Blair’s the fourth victim.” He pauses. “Dani just went upstairs with her, and I haven’t spotted Carter yet. I’m going after her.”

“Bright!” No response. “Malcolm!”

“Got to go, Gil. Just so you know, Mom’s here,” the kid tells him, turning his phone off.

Gil runs faster. “Call for backup,” he tells JT. “Bright says the wife is the fourth victim, and Dani is alone with her. We don’t have eyes on Carter.”

Gil breaks dozens of traffic laws on his way to the address Dani sent them. They burst into the party, scaring the hell out of a bunch of society types. Gil sees the fear on Jessica’s face when she sees him, sees it double when she realizes Malcolm isn’t with him. He’s  _ going _ to get to the kid before anything bad happens. He’s got to.

They cut it closer than he would’ve prefered. Gil doesn’t even want to know what would’ve happened if he’d been a second later. The look on Malcolm’s face as he kneels on the floor tells him that his cool, collected shell has fractured, and he’s afraid that this time, the kid may have fractured with it.

Dani was knocked unconscious, so she needs paramedics. She and Malcolm agree that nobody actually hurt him, so, knowing it’ll be a while before he can leave, Gil sends the kid home with Jessica, giving her strict instructions to get some hot tea and as much of his anxiety medication as he’s allowed to take at one time in him, and get him tucked into bed. He promises to join them as soon as he’s finished.

Dani fills them in on what they missed while the paramedics look her over. Gil’s whole body goes cold as he listens, hearing how Malcolm described himself, hearing that he said he’d  _ betrayed _ his father. That sounds like Martin. He let the kid see his dad  _ once _ and he’s already got his claws that deep in him. Gil needs to get home to his kid.

“Is it true?” Dani asks him. Gil nods. He kept Mal’s secret as long as he could, but he can’t lie to his team.

JT is horrified. “The Surgeon’s son? Gil, you know I love you, man, but this is a bridge too far.”

But Malcolm nearly died tonight, saving Dani’s life. Gil sees that she shares JT’s surprise and confusion, but not his distrust. “Gil, who is he? Who is he to you?” she asks.

Trust Dani to find the right question. That’s why she’s so good in interrogation. She always finds  _ that _ question. Gil takes a moment, deciding how much to share. He won’t lie, but there’s so much more to that question than they realize and, not sure if this has broken Malcolm, Gil finds he can’t break his promise to the kid and tell them everything.

So instead, he tells them about the day he met Malcolm Whitley. The boy who stopped the Surgeon, and saved Gil Arroyo’s life. He sees the way they both soften. Dani, with the realization of what Malcolm did, and JT with a memory that’s at least fifteen years old.

“So Bright called the cops on his dad?” Dani asks.

“Yeah,” Gil tells her, watching JT carefully. “He saved a lot of lives that night, including mine.” He makes eye contact with each of them, making sure they see how sincere he is. “Look, I know he’s a little different, but trust me, Bright’s one of us.”

“Okay,” Dani says softly. “He’s saved my life now, too.”

“Hat trick,” JT says quietly, and Gil remembers him saying he wouldn’t have been able to leave Nico. This case may have broken Mal. Gil may have done permanent damage to the kid he loves more than life itself to stop this killer. But Malcolm has saved his team, Nico, and Blair Berkhead. That’s got to count for something.

JT pulls him to the side of the ambulance as the paramedics finish looking over Dani. “The day we met… I didn’t put it together, before.”

“It was a long time ago,” Gil tells him.

“The day I nearly hauled in your kid,” JT remembers. “Bright. Shit.”

“I don’t think he remembers you,” Gil tells him.

“I’d be surprised if he remembered anything, as high as he was,” JT agrees. “Gil… the Surgeon’s kid, that’s a hell of a thing. But  _ your _ kid? That, I can work with.”

“He’s mine more than he was ever Whitley’s. In all the ways that count. This case… I’m afraid I shouldn’t have called him in. He doesn’t exactly stop to put on a parachute before he jumps into things,” Gil admits.

“I remember he was pretty messed up, the day I met him. Understandable, really,” JT allows.

“He didn’t want the team to know his dad was the Lieutenant,” Gil admits.

“I’d probably have gone easier on him,” JT says reluctantly. “Guy’s crazy, but he solved this- and he got us all through it alive.”

“That he did,” Gil agrees.

“Listen, you probably want to go check on him. I’ll get Dani home,” JT offers.

Gil says goodbye to Dani, making sure she’s feeling okay before looking around, trying to remember where he parked. He sees Ainsley wrapping up her broadcast and walks over to check on her.

“Best reporter in the business,” he says, smiling at her.

“Hi, Gil. Any hints what’s next for Major Crimes?” she asks him, playful.

“Hopefully sleep, before we catch another one,” Gil tells her.

He’s surprised to see Jessica standing off to the side. “Where’s Malcolm?” they ask each other at the same time.

“He said he remembered something he had to tell you. He walked toward the ambulance, but in this crowd… I don’t know where he went,” Jessica confesses.

Gil resists the urge to chew her out. Malcolm is a grown man. His mother shouldn’t have to put a leash on him to keep him from wandering off. Though he may suggest she try it. “Ainsley, will you see your mom home? I’m going to go find your brother. I’ll let you know when I’ve got him, Jessica,” Gil promises.

He calls Malcolm, and he’s surprised when the kid picks up on the first ring. “Where are you?” he asks.

“At the Le Mans. Figured I’d wait for you,” Mal tells him easily.

Gil is surprised to find the kid seated in the passenger's seat of his car. In his rush, JT apparently didn’t lock his door. He texts Jessica that he's got the kid.

“You gave your mom the slip,” Gil says nonjudgmentally.

“Gil, it’s going to be a bad night. She can’t handle that, right now,” Malcolm tells him frankly.

“Neither of us wanted you alone,” Gil explains.

“I’m not. I’m with you,” Malcolm points out.

Gil gives up the argument. “Let’s go home, kid,” he says instead.

Once inside, he coaxes Malcolm through a piece of toast and his medication and a shower. Mal steals one of Gil’s t-shirts from the laundry room to sleep in, and Gil changes into his own pajamas and meets the kid in his room. They keep emergency restraints in the nightstand, and Malcolm is attaching them to the headboard.

“Uh oh. Am I in trouble?” Mal asks, his tone joking.

“No, kid. You did good, today. I wish you hadn’t been in that situation, but you did good,” Gil tells him firmly.

“Dani told you what I said to Carter,” Mal realizes. “Gil, that wasn’t  _ me _ . I just… I fell into his head, a little. Our killer’s, not my father’s. That’s what I  _ do _ . That’s how I know what to say.”

“Would you have let him hurt you?” Gil asks simply.

“I-” Malcolm hesitates. “Usually, I don’t go so deep into a killer’s head that there’s any chance of getting lost. This time, it was a little shaky. He was so obsessed with my dad. And I am, too. Just for opposite reasons,” Malcolm admits. He’s got the restraints fastened to the bed, and he sits on the side of it.

“I’m glad you can admit that, kid. I think you need to be seeing someone,” he says gently. "Have you made an appointment yet?"

“Definitely. I’ll call Gabrielle,” Malcolm agrees. Gil nods. She’s a children’s specialist, but she’s also the only doctor Mal will actually open up with. It’s unusual, but it works.

Malcolm sits up against the headboard, and Gil gently takes the soft restraints out of his hands, fastening them for him. “Scoot over, kid,” he instructs, getting up to shut off the light.

“You going to keep me safe from him?” Malcolm asks, already lying back.

Gil sits against the headboard, gently stroking his kid's hair. "Always, Mal." Malcolm looks like he's going to respond, so Gil says, "Sleep, now. We have plenty to talk about tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

Mal was right about it being a rough night. Usually, Gil can anchor him without waking him up, if he catches a nightmare fast enough. Tonight, Mal is too deep in his own personal hell for even Gil to reach him.

The kid throws himself across the bed, frantically trying to escape Gil's comforting touch, and he resorts to calling to him. "Malcolm! Mal! Kid, you're okay!" He's pulling at the restraints, and Gil worries he'll have bruises. "Malcolm Charles!"

That brings the kid back, and once he's sure Malcolm sees him, Gil is across the bed, holding him tight. "It's okay. You're okay. It's 2019. I'm right here and I've got you," he assures the kid.

"I don't like 2019, Gil," Malcolm murmurs into his shoulder. "Can we go back to 2014?"

The last full, good year they had before Jackie got sick. Malcolm had distinguished himself enough at the FBI by then that they were flying him out to cases, not just using him as an analyst, and when he'd been flying back over a weekend, he'd fly to New York, visit, and fly back to Quantico Sunday night or take a red eye Monday. Ainsley had graduated from college that year.

"It was a good year," Gil agrees.

"Do you think she'd be disappointed in me?" Malcolm asks, and Gil's heart breaks. "I never save everyone I mean to."

"You save plenty of people, kiddo. You saved Blair and Dani tonight. You saved Nico and JT from the explosion. Some cops go years without directly saving someone's life," Gil assures him. "You saved me."

"But I didn't save the girl I called about, in the first place. The girl in the box. Just like I didn't save the first three victims. If I hadn't gotten fired… the FBI would've sent me down before the third vic died." Malcolm's guilty posture makes Gil sad. At least now he knows what the nightmare was about.

"Kid, the girl in the box wasn't real. You couldn't have saved her. And they wouldn't have sent you down, because I didn't request FBI help. You did all you could," Gil assures him, stroking his hair.

"I don't save anyone anymore," Malcolm muses sadly. "I'm such a screw up I got fired, and after tonight Dani knows what I am. She'll never work with me again, and JT already hated me."

"What you are?" Gil asks. He's never heard the kid put it quite like that before.

"The twisted, broken results of pure evil," Malcolm tells him.

"Mal!" Gil exclaims, horrified. "You are not. You're hurt by your father's legacy, every day. But you aren't  _ broken _ by it. You didn't let him break you. You fight through it, and go out in the world and do good. And yes, he's evil, but he's not all you are. Genetically, you're half Jessica. Think about how strong your mom is. How much good she still does for the world, how hard she's fought to take care of you guys. And you're the psychology guy- it's not all nature. Nurture matters too. And I've had you twice as long as he did," Gil points out. "Jackie too. I see her in you all the time, kid."

"Really?" Mal asks.

"The way you protect the people you love- not just physically. You wouldn't go home with your mom tonight because you knew she couldn't handle hearing the nightmares," Gil points out. "And you were determined to solve the case anyway, but when your mom found out… you pushed even harder, because it  _ brought the nightmare back for her _ and you didn't want that."

"Jackie took good care of us," Malcolm says, not acknowledging Gil's wider point.

"You've picked up her habit of cooking to take care of people, too, sometimes," Gil reminds him.

"It's good to have something to  _ do _ , and to be able to eat together. It makes me remember her," Mal admits.

"She'd love that," Gil points out.

"She's still somehow making sure I eat," Malcolm says with a smile.

"Her truest goal in life," Gil teases.

Malcolm sighs, settling against him more fully. "I don't want to go back to sleep, Gil," he says softly.

Gil hadn't suggested it yet, but it's only two am. "You know the rule," he tells Mal gently.

"Anytime before five," Malcolm admits. It's a compromise they'd agreed on in high school. Mal wakes up with nightmares most nights, sometimes more than once. If it's before five, he has to go back to sleep. After five, he can do something restful like yoga or meditation until it's time to get up. It had come about when a tearful Malcolm had explained, exhausted and miserable, that when he went back to sleep that close to morning he seemed to jump straight into the nightmare and woke up even more tired.

Gil looks Malcolm over carefully. Usually, he'd suggest hot chocolate. But if Mal had the dream he thinks he had- if it's the girl in the box, haunting his kid tonight, the hot chocolate will only make the dream more real.

"C'mon," he tells the kid. "We'll have a warm drink and get back to sleep."

"Gil, I don't know…." Mal frets.

"I'm almost positive I've got coconut milk," Gil tells him.

Malcolm's eyes light up in understanding and he releases the cuffs, following Gil to the kitchen.

There's a night light in the hall and a light under the microwave that stays on at night, so Gil leaves the others off, wanting a restful environment as he gathers ingredients.

He's making an old standby of Jackie's- a cross between coquito and regular warm milk. She'd come up with it when an eleven year old Malcolm had taken a sip of hot cocoa and had a flashback so bad he'd been sick. Usually, cocoa is one of his comfort foods, and a warm drink always seemed to help him fall back to sleep. But when he dreams about the girl in the box, the sense memories he associates with the dream are too powerful.

Gil doesn't know what that dream is an amalgamation of. He isn't sure if it's Malcolm trying to process things he did see but repressed- his father disposing of a body, maybe- or fear because of the things that went on right under his nose, that he  _ didn't _ see. But the dream is as vivid and real as a memory, for Mal.

He makes them each a cup of the warm drink and tugs Mal gently to the couch. Gil leans against the armrest and Mal curls up against his chest without hesitation, mug cradled between his hands. Gil rests his mug against the armrest with his left hand and uses his right to card through Mal's hair, soothing him.

The kid is quiet, but he seems calmer. Slowly, he relaxes against Gil, and he wonders if they're going to wind up falling asleep here on the couch.

The idea apparently occurs to Mal at about the same time, because he startles, looking like he'd like to jump up but is too tired to manage it. "Can't fall asleep," he tells Gil, who shushes him. "I need my  _ restraints _ ," he insists.

"I won't let you get hurt," Gil promises softly, pressing a kiss to Malcolm's hair.

"Could hurt  _ you _ ," Mal insists worriedly.

"You won't," Gil promises.

"How do you know?" Mal asks worriedly, toying with his empty mug.

Gil takes the mug, putting it safely on the coffee table where even if Mal flails, he won't bump it. He drains his own and puts it there as well.

"Never have before," he reminds the kid.

Mal is doubtful, but apparently too tired to argue. He frowns, but leans back down against Gil, and before he comes up with another reason it's a bad idea, he's asleep.

Gil lets himself sleep too, confident that with Mal's head on his chest he'll feel it if the kid needs him.

He wakes up a couple of hours later when Malcolm pushes against him hard, struggling upright. He's been holding the kid lightly, but Mal pulls away before Gil can get a good grip on him, leaping off of the couch.

Mal runs straight into the coffee table, hard enough to knock it over, sending the mugs crashing down. They hit each other and break on the way down, because everything that can go wrong  _ is _ , tonight.

Gil immediately stands, grabbing Mal, who is somehow still asleep. The kid fights him, but Gil manages to get his arms around him from behind and pick him up, moving him away from the broken ceramics.

"Malcolm! Malcolm!" he yells in the kid's ear. "Bright!" he tries. Maybe the adult name will pull the adult out of the child's memories.

Slowly, Mal stops fighting him. Gil lets go, and Malcolm turns worriedly. "What happened?" He looks over the mess and winces.

"I should've listened to you about not sleeping in here," Gil tells him wryly. This is entirely his own fault.

"I… broke everything?" the kid asks, still confused.

"Just our mugs, I think," Gil tells him. "Coffee table is fine, just sideways. I'm more worried about how hard you ran into it, to flip it."

Malcolm sits on the arm of the couch, pulling up his pant leg and wincing. "Yeah, that's gonna leave a mark," he reports. Already the area is angrily red. Gil immediately goes to get ice, returning with a bag of frozen peas.

"Gil," Malcolm says, slow and alarmed, "why are you bleeding?"

For a second, he thinks Malcolm is still asleep, maybe, or hallucinating. But he follows his kid's gaze down to the bloody marks on the wood of the floor. He lifts his foot, surprised to discover that he is, in fact, bleeding.

He tosses Malcolm the peas. "Ice that. I'll get a first aid kit."

"No!" Malcolm jumps up, moving carefully around the mug fragments and forcing Gil to sit. "You are  _ bleeding. _ Sit down and I'll get the first aid kit."

Malcolm returns with the plastic bin they keep under the kitchen sink. He turns on the overhead light, looking frantic, and sits down in the floor in front of Gil. "Let me see, which foot is it?"

"It's the side of my right one," Gil says, showing Malcolm a small gash near his right ankle that's dripping blood.

Malcolm takes a breath. "Okay. Okay, that's not too bad." He holds up the rubbing alcohol. "Do you want to do it or do you want me to?" he asks.

"I've got it. It's no big deal, Mal," Gil assures him.

Mal hands over the kit and stands. "I'll get the broom," he offers.

"Sit," Gil tells him. "Ice. We'll get it swept up in a minute."

Rather than get closer to the shards and have Gil yell at him, Malcolm sits on the arm of the couch again, retrieving the peas and pressing them to his shin. Gil puts a bandaid over the small cut, then goes to get the broom and the Swiffer mop, for the blood. He sweeps up the broken crockery and rights the coffee table, replacing the remotes and coasters that fell.

Malcolm is practically vibrating in place. "Let me help!" he begs.

"Ice," Gil reminds him firmly. He finishes cleaning up by mopping over the parts of the floor he'd bled on, and when he looks around, the living room is back to normal.

He rejoins Malcolm on the couch. "I'm sorry, kid," he says at the same time as Malcolm tells him, "I'm so sorry."

"It was a nightmare. You didn't do anything wrong. I thought we'd be fine. I was wrong," Gil tells him. He should've known, with how bad the one at the station was. If Mal's dreams are this bad here, Gil doesn't want to know what they're like when he's alone at the loft.

"You got hurt," Mal tells him softly.

"So did you. And I'm the one who's supposed to keep you safe," Gil reminds him.

"It's not your fault, Gil," Malcolm tells him seriously.

"Well, it's definitely not yours," Gil insists.

"The dangers of sleep deprivation. When we're tired, our brains prioritize rest over higher thinking," Mal tells him. “And we were both on a major adrenaline crash when we got home. And not for the first time this week.”

Gil wants to argue that no matter how tired he was, it’s no excuse to risk Malcolm’s safety. That’s what being a parent  _ is _ . Thinking about what’s best for the kid first. But Mal obviously wants to consider the accident blameless, and Gil knows his time will be better used convincing the kid to go back to sleep, rather than arguing.

So instead he says, “I think we should go back to bed this time.”

Malcolm looks horrified. “Gil, no! I’ve woken up twice already. This isn’t working.”

“And you’ve gotten a couple of hours rest first, both times. I know it isn’t fun, Mal. But your body needs sleep,” Gil insists. He hopes he’s not going to have to get stern.

“My body needs to not be constantly going through fear responses. Maslow’s hierarchy puts safety on the bottom for a reason,” Malcolm shoots back.

Gil remembers this one. It’s an argument Mal has tried before. “Yeah. Physical safety. You have to get your physical needs met before you can focus on emotional ones. So rest, now. Make an appointment with Gabrielle as soon as you can, if you haven’t already set one up. Work on the cause of the nightmares with her. You won’t be able to do that if you’re so exhausted you can barely think.”

“I’m not going back to sleep,” Malcolm refuses. “I’ll take twenty minute power naps every few hours when I start dragging. It’s long enough to recharge, but not long enough to dream. I’ll be fine.”

Gil goggles at him. “Is that how you’ve been handling this?” he asks, aghast.

“Not often,” Malcolm tells him. “Just when a case hits wrong, and they get bad. It’s just that they’re bad all the time now.”

“So instead of seeing someone you trusted enough to talk to, you’ve been trying to… find a hack for your body? Bypass real sleep entirely?” Gil asks, still wrapping his mind around this revelation.

Mal shrugs. “It works.”

“It really, really doesn’t, kid. The fact that you think that’s an acceptable solution tells me just how far out of hand you’ve let this get. Now come on, we’re going to bed,” Gil tells him firmly.

“No,” Malcolm insists. He glances at the clock.

Gil turns to check it too. It’s 4:37, and he immediately figures out what Malcolm is thinking. “It’s not five am yet. And I’m not going to stand here arguing with you till five, so you can justify staying up. Bed. Now.”

“Gillllllll. No! I can’t sleep,” Malcolm pleads.

“Yes you can, kid. It’s not easy, but you can do this. I’ll sit up with you. Wake you up as soon as you start twitching,” Gil offers.

“Gil no, that’s ridiculous. You have to work tomorrow,” Mal argues.

“I’ve got reserves left that you just don’t, kiddo. I haven’t been  _ sleeping for less time than it takes to cook a frozen pizza _ at a time,” Gil insists.

“I don’t have to be anywhere tomorrow, unless Gabrielle can get me in. Case is solved,” Mal insists.

“Are you honestly trying to convince me you’ll sleep while I’m gone?” Gil asks stonily.

“Of course not. But it doesn’t matter if I’m tired,” Malcolm tells him earnestly.

Gil sighs. Mal is in no state for anything he’s saying about self preservation or overall wellbeing to get through. “I’m done arguing. Bed. Now.”

“Gillllll!” Malcolm clenches his fists at his sides. He looks seconds away from stomping his foot. It’s like dealing with an overtired toddler.

“Malcolm Charles. I said now.” Gil strides purposefully toward the kid, who realizes too late how serious he is, attempting to back away. “Stay.” Gil snaps, and he freezes. Gil turns him and gives him two sharp spanks. “Now, can you get yourself to your room on your own, or do I need to help?” he asks, not releasing the kid.

“On my own! On my own!” Mal assures him.

Gil releases him and Malcolm turns warily, pouting as he rubs his backside. Gil raises an eyebrow, and Malcolm hastily heads for his bedroom, Gil following behind.

Gil watches as Mal sulkily replaces his restraints, making it clear just how annoyed he is with every motion. When the kid is sitting up in bed, looking put upon, Gil comes to sit beside him, passing him his mouth guard.

“I hate this,” Malcolm pouts.

“I know you do, kid. But you’ve got to sleep, and eat, and do all the boring staying alive stuff before you can worry about the feeling better stuff. But we’ve managed it before, haven’t we? We’ll get you back on track. It’ll never be easy, Mal, and I’m sorry for that. But it won’t be this hard forever,” Gil assures him.

“You don’t have to sit up with me,” Mal tells him softly.

“I’m not leaving you,” Gil insists.

“Okay. But you sleep too, okay?” Mal asks worriedly.

“C’mere, kid,” Gil tells him, pulling Malcolm against his side and rubbing the back of his neck soothingly. “Get some sleep, kid. It’ll all look better in the morning.”

Finally, Malcolm is so exhausted that it sticks. He’s still asleep when Gil wakes up to his alarm at eight, having given his team a late start today. He silences his phone immediately, relieved the noise hasn’t woken Mal. He carefully slides out of bed, deciding to get ready and make breakfast, checking every few minutes to make sure the kid isn’t dreaming, before he wakes Mal up. He doesn’t want to leave with the kid asleep and risk him waking up to a nightmare alone, but Mal needs all the sleep he can get.

Malcolm is actually pretty easy to wake up, when he’s not mid nightmare. He stretches, loosening his cuffs, and smiles at Gil.

Gil claps him on the shoulder. “Come eat breakfast with me before I head to work,” he suggests.

“I’ll be right there,” Mal tells him, shaking his head to get his hair out of his eyes. Gil goes into the kitchen, making himself a bowl of cereal and leaving a granola he knows Mal likes on the counter.

Malcolm, to Gil’s amusement, bypasses the counter on his way to the pantry, only to ask, confused, “Are we out of-” Gil waves the box and he smiles sheepishly and takes it. “Thanks!”

As they eat, Gil asks, “What are you up to, today?”

“I need to call Gabrielle. I didn’t before because I didn’t want to take time away from the case to go see her. I’ll see when she can get me in,” Malcolm promises. “I’ll run home and see Sunshine, feed her and let her out for a little while. I’m guessing you want me home tonight?”

“You guessed right,” Gil tells him.

“Now that the case is closed, we still have to talk about, you know, what happened at the FBI,” Mal says, looking nervous.

“Do we need to wait until you’ve seen Gabrielle to deal with that? A lot has happened since then, I don’t want to get anything mixed up in your head,” Gil asks.

“I want to say yes, but I’d just be stalling because I can. I’m as evened out as I’m ever going to get, living in NYC. I feel a  _ lot _ better for actually getting some sleep. I slept what, four hours in a row? Seven or eight total? I’m a new man,” Mal tells him with a grin.

“I don’t know, I kind of liked the old one,” Gil teases.

“You would,” Malcolm sasses back, and Gil ruffles his hair, getting up to rinse his bowl and put it in the dishwasher.

“Alright, kid, I’m headed to work. Take care of what you need to today and I’ll see you for dinner. And  _ call me _ if you need me. I’m doing paperwork and wrap up, I can walk away if you need me.” Gil kisses the top of Malcolm’s head on his way out of the kitchen, the way he has hundreds of times before. It almost freezes him, not turning around to kiss Jackie afterwards, but he pushes through, sliding into his coat. “And call your mom, please. Let her know you’re okay.”

“I’ll be good,” Malcolm teases. “Love you!”

“Love you too, kid. Love you too,” Gil says as he heads out the door. Malcolm’s positively cheerful today- a rarity for a morning with no clear plans. Gil wonders if it’s really just that he finally got some sleep, or if something else is up with the kid. Still, whatever it is, he’ll take all the good days for Malcolm he can get.

****

Malcolm texted Gil around ten thirty that he’d gotten an appointment with Gabrielle at 1:00, so Gil takes a late lunch at two and meets him outside the office.

“Are you checking up on me?” Malcolm asks, on edge.

“No. Figured since you were good and went to therapy, I’d buy you ice cream,” Gil tells him. Malcolm looks like he can’t decide if he should be pleased or affronted. “I needed a break, anyway,” Gil adds, which seems to make the kid feel better. He’s always pleased to spend time with Gil, but he  _ does not _ like being patronized. Gil wasn’t teasing him about seeing his childhood psychiatrist- taking Mal for ice cream after appointments is something he used to do when he had time, when he was younger. He’d been feeling nostalgic, today.

“And it’s my job to keep you occupied?” Mal snarks.

“So what I’m hearing is that you  _ don’t _ want to go to Dylan’s?” Gil asks.

“I never said that!” Mal assures him.

They go to the Dylan’s with the ice cream bar. Mal actually orders, and eats, an ice cream cone. Gil gets one too, and stocks up on hard candy. It’s a good sensory trigger for Malcolm when he’s in or near a flashback, so he always tries to have some handy.

Malcolm hmms thoughtfully. “I usually carry candy too. I haven’t really felt like I needed to, this week. Though I was glad I had one in my jacket pocket after we arrested Berkhead.” They walk out of the store and back to the car as Gil considers this.

Mal hasn’t felt the need to carry it not because he hasn’t been veering into flashback territory, but because he knows Gil has it for him. “I always have some if you need it. And if you’re headed somewhere potentially triggering without me, I can always give you one before you go,” he points out. It’s good for Mal to trust anyone, even Gil, enough to rely on him for something he needs. Gil wants to encourage that.

“Like you let me go potentially triggering places without you,” Malcolm jokes, but there’s an edge of almost frustrated insecurity to it.

“Places like Claremont? Absolutely not. Places like suspect and witness interviews that might get dicey? Kid, I’ve known you long enough and well enough to know I can trust you to do the job. It’s the taking care of yourself afterwards where I worry,” Gil admits.

“I managed at Quantico,” Mal argues. “Mostly. Sometimes. Okay, I managed because I could call you when I needed you, or come home. And I didn’t do so hot when I didn’t do that. But it’s a proven system, and I do learn from my mistakes.”

“Yeah, kid, you do.” Gil strokes the back of Malcolm’s neck gently, then shifts gears and gets on the road, headed toward home.

“Actually, could you drop me at the loft?” Mal asks, and Gil switches lanes.

When they arrive, Mal hops out of the car. “Thanks. For the ice cream, and the lift. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later,” he says, suddenly awkward.

Gil wonders and tries not to worry what has the kid so on edge today- he’s been short with him a few times, a change from the positively cheerful morning, but figures coming off of a rough case could be unsettling him. He’ll ask Mal what’s up if he’s still keyed up when he gets home tonight.

***

Gil ends the day with a meeting with FID and his boss, about his favorite consultant.

“We’re not saying there was any malicious intent behind the action. It was just…. Extreme, Lieutenant,” the investigator says.

“Extreme and successful. Nico lived. The reattachment looks successful, they said,” Gil tells him.

“And we’ve already received the preliminary lawsuit,” the guy adds. “Somehow, when criminals kill them, it’s not our fault, but if we save them, we also have to  _ pay _ them.” Gil and the Captain both look at him. “I’m kidding. We’d rather pay out a lawsuit than see citizens die. But chopping off a man’s hand was not the only thing that your profiler got into this weekend. We’ve also begun prelim work on your shooting, Lieutenant Arroyo. Obviously a good shoot, but we’ve got to take statements and tick all of the boxes.”

“I can call Bright in for a statement,” Gil offers immediately.

“No need, we called him and did it over the phone earlier. What has me more concerned are the statements made by one of your detectives- Detective Powell. She said Bright had picked up the needle  _ himself _ , and offered to let Berkhead poison him. On its own, it’s risky, borderline suicidal. Combined with the thing with the axe, it shows a pattern of brilliant, out of the box thinking… that’s going to wrack up a body count,” the investigator tells him.

“None of this matters if this was a single case consultation. I got back the paperwork for him to consult on the Quartet case, but I haven’t seen the forms we sent for ongoing consultancy,” the Captain says. “Do we even know if the guy is interested in working with us again? He nearly died twice on this case. Maybe we should be looking at a lawsuit from  _ him _ .”

Gil shakes his head. “Bright’s not gonna sue us. And I think he’ll be coming back. I’d like to have the option of doing another one off the next case we need him for, if he’s not ready to commit to anything.” Gil doesn’t mention that the reason Bright hasn’t signed any ongoing consultancy papers is that he hasn’t given them to him- he wants to make sure Mal  _ wants _ this, not that he’s sticking around because he feels like he owes Gil.

“I think another temporary assignment would be good, if you want to use this guy again. I looked at the case files, Arroyo. Even if you’d gotten to Nico without him, the wife would’ve been dead if he hadn’t been on the case,” the investigator agrees.

“Then we’re decided. Call me the next time you want to bring him in for something big. We’ll get him approved for another one off. And you’re off rotation this weekend while we finish up the shooting paperwork. Good work, Arroyo,” the captain says.

“Thank you, sir,” Gil says, shaking hands with both men on his way out. He half can’t believe they’ve gotten so lucky- Bright’s results are good enough that the brass are willing to forgive his left of center methods. Now if  _ Gil _ can just get him to stop taking so many risks.

Dani and JT are hanging around when he comes out of the Captain’s office, obviously waiting for him before leaving. “All good,” he tells them, smiling at their concern.

“You  _ and  _ Bright?” Dani asks. Gil’s surprised, but pleased, that she’s worried about the profiler too.

“Everything. We’re all fine,” Gil assures her.

“It’d just be messed up if they came after the guy for what he did for Nico,” JT muses. It’s a start.

“It would be.” Gil looks his team over. “They’ve said we can use him again.”

“Gil…” It’s Dani who speaks first. “Be careful with that one.”

“He’s one of us, Dani. He’s not going to hurt anyone,” Gil assures her, surprised.

“I’m not worried about him  _ hurting _ anyone but himself,” Dani assures him.

“Guy does kind of redefine reckless,” JT says. “You know me- I’m all for saving people however we have to do it. But in the field… I’d be worried about saving him, too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Gil tells them. “I’m planning on calling him in again, before we make any permanent decisions.”

“I’d appreciate that. Give him time to learn us, us time to learn him. Maybe in a few weeks, once the shock of solving a copycat of his dad has worn off,” Dani says.

“Yeah, I could see how we might need him again. Maybe,” JT admits. Gil will take it.

Gil calls the kid as he leaves. “Hey, kid, I’m headed home- what should I pick up for dinner?” Gil asks as he gets to his car.

“Ah, crap, I was going to cook. Lost track of time,” Mal groans. “Sandwiches?” he asks.

Gil wonders what the kid’s been up to today, for him to have been so distracted. Not that he expects Mal to cook when he spends time at home- especially after the case they just finished and having just gotten back in with Gabrielle today. But usually only cases and murder can get Mal so interested he completely loses track of time.

“I’ll stop by the bodega by the house,” Gil offers. It’s ‘stake out food’- not anything Jackie would ever have let her men eat for dinner at home. But it’s comfort food, in its own way.

“Sounds great!” Mal tells him, sounding somehow distant. Gil wonders if the kid is okay.

Gil gets the sandwiches and they eat dinner on the couch, casual. Malcolm does seem a little high strung, so Gil asks about the FID call.

“They just wanted to know about the shooting. It was fine. They aren’t hassling you about it, are they?” Mal asks. He really does seem unconcerned- for himself, anyway. He’s immediately worried about Gil.

“No. I’ve got a weekend not on call while they sort out paperwork, but it’s just forms. I’m good,” Gil assures him.

“I was wondering- how did you know? My body was blocking the syringe,” Mal asks. Gil recognizes suddenly just how much the kid trusts him. Mal is  _ militantly _ against killing the killers, unless it has to be done to save a life. And the question is just curious. The kid knows Gil will absolutely kill to protect him, but there’s no accusation, there, no ‘did you really know I was in danger?’. Just curiosity.

“Dani,” Gil explains. “We have a signal, if one of us has sight lines but doesn’t have the shot, so we can tell the others to take it. She was signalling me as soon as I stepped into the room.”

“That’s smart. Takes advantage of different people’s views in the room, and it was subtle enough I missed it even facing her,” Malcolm says.

“We’re going to need to teach you that stuff, if you’re sticking with us,” Gil realizes.

“Am I?” Malcolm asks quietly. “I don’t know that Dani would be comfortable with me in the field after yesterday. And JT definitely didn’t want me there, before he knew.”

“You saved Dani’s life. That matters to  _ both _ of them. You saved JT’s life from the bombing, too. They don’t trust you yet- not because of your father, or because of how you handled Berkhead, just because they don’t know you yet. But I think they will,” Gil says.

“I don’t want to implode your team, just because you’re worried I’ll feel rejected if you don’t use me again. I’m a big boy, Gil. I can separate family and work,” Mal assures him.

“I know you can. I also know I told them last night how much I trust you. And when I came out of the meeting with FID and the captain today, Dani asked if we were  _ both _ in the clear,” Gil tells him gently.

“Wow,” Mal looks stunned. Gil smiles. The kid has never worked with anyone who liked him, or who he really trusted. Maybe he can help Malcolm build relationships with the whole team. That might make staying in NYC easier on the kid- he’s never really had any kind of support system beyond the family here. He had a best friend for a while in high school, when he was in boarding school, but they hadn’t seen each other much on breaks. It might also make tackling cases that remind him of Dr. Whitley easier, to have people who  _ got _ that he was struggling and tried to accommodate. Gil’s team take care of each other, and he wants that for Mal, too.

Malcolm looks thoughtful for a long moment, and serious. Then he steels himself, like he’s making a big decision. “I’d like to work with you guys again,” he says.

“Next time we catch something that could use a profiler, I’ll call you in,” Gil promises.

“You sure you don’t want to wait till you finish killing me for getting fired to make that promise?” Mal asks him softly, a touch unsure.

“I promised we’d deal with that after we closed the case. And it sounds like you’re ready to talk. But kid? No matter what mistakes you made, I still love you and I’m still gonna be willing to give you another chance, or take a chance on you, or however you want to look at it with the NYPD. Got it?” Gil tells him seriously.

“Got it,” Mal says, shyly pleased.

“Now, why don’t you tell me what went wrong in Tennessee?” Gil asks.

“Out here?” Malcolm asks, confused.

“We’re talking, right now. We’ll head to your room when we’re ready to deal with punishment,” Gil decides. He has suspicions, based on how utterly  _ done _ with the FBI Mal seems, that things went really badly. He’s even heard through the grapevine that, while Malcolm screwed up bigtime in Tennessee, getting fired may not entirely have been his fault. He’d like to know exactly what went down, so he can help the kid process all of it- not just the things he screwed up.

“Backwoods community. These perfect bodies kept appearing, absolutely cut up. Butchered. They were calling him the Butcher before I showed up, but it didn’t occur to anyone that he might actually  _ be _ a butcher. Very rural area. The Sheriff from the county seat was running the investigation, but he had nothing to go on except that most victims were new to the area or visitors. He was thinking it was some ‘outsider’ problem. It was actually just that the Butcher was looking for prime cuts, as awful as that sounds, and hygiene and personal care were not huge priorities in the community,” Mal explains.

“Were you having trouble with the Sheriff before the takedown?” Gil asks.

“Yeah.” Malcolm takes a deep breath. “One of the mayor’s daughter’s friends was taken, and the Mayor overruled him to bring us in. They sent me solo. The locals were not happy. Kept making jokes about using me as an offering. And… I didn’t handle their incompetence well. I  _ know _ local departments like that don’t have the training to handle serial killers, Gil. That’s been my whole job for years, being the expert. But it made me so angry- they’d had  _ seven _ deaths since a clear pattern emerged. I looked at the board, they had them all on a whiteboard, and I circled the ones after the pattern was clear. And I told the whole department that those deaths weren’t just the Butcher’s fault. They were the Sheriff’s, too. Because they shouldn’t have happened, and did, because of his ego,” Malcolm confesses.

Gil blows out a breath. That’s… not good. It’s also not surprising, given Malcolm’s dim view of authority. He nods for the kid to go on. “The Sheriff came at me, and we’d have had a physical fight right there if a local hunter hadn’t come running into the station to tell us he’d found the girl’s body,” Mal admits.

“The mayor’s daughter’s friend,” Gil checks. Mal nods.

“I already had a profile, and had people combing through old local newspapers, looking for butchers who’d advertised. Calling farmers asking who they used for their livestock. They weren’t big on permits and food safety licensing up there. I’d already eliminated everyone at the factory. Finally, we found a guy. He’d been the foster kid of a well respected local butcher, guy who used to run the main slaughterhouse, and he’d done some under the table work after the butcher and his wife died in a house fire when he was 17. People took pity, you know, wanted to help him out. Somehow, the state never got him a new family and he aged out of the system living in the meat cutting barn,” Mal explains.

“Jesus. The fire?” Gil asks.

“Set by our killer, I assume, but I never got the chance to ask,” Mal tells him. “There were other people missing in town, we weren’t sure how many were victims and how many were just visiting family or drunk somewhere. But we were pretty sure he had more victims- he always seemed to have more than one at a time. Sheriff was  _ pissed _ when I called the state troopers for support. Said his team could handle it. I didn’t even bother answering him, at that point,” Malcolm says, wincing.

“I split off from the team when we got inside and he found me. That let me get to the hostages, and gave me time to talk him down. Except  _ right after he surrendered _ , the dumbass Sheriff stormed in and shot him, unarmed,” Malcolm growls. “Even the state guys said it was a bad shoot. He was gloating about how he was a hero. And he was just as responsible for the suffering and death as the killer. He was a hypocrite and a murderer. So I punched him.”

“You wanted to bring him in alive,” Gil says. It’s not a guess- Malcolm always does.

“His victims’ families deserved that, Gil. And he was so… steeped in that place. I wonder if, if I’d gotten him out, he could’ve explained why he did it. If it would’ve changed him, to remove him from that environment. I’ve been working on  _ triggers _ . A lot of the other profilers thought I was crazy, but I’ve done some field testing and it’s worked. So far, I’ve been able to use a killer’s triggers- not just the type of his victim, other things too, even the weather- to get him to pick up an undercover officer so we could bust him. Eventually, I might be able to manipulate somebody’s triggers to slow down an escalation pattern. Give us time to find them,” Malcolm explains. “It’s a longer term version of my talk-down take down style.”

“So you weren’t just thinking about the Butcher. You were thinking about the other people you want to save, later on,” Gil asks.

“Yeah. Did you know I took ballet as a kid? I can actually track… my father was more active when I was taking classes. He also developed a brief preference during that time for women with their hair tightly pulled back- a way my mother never wore hers,” Malcolm explains.

“Kid,” Gil says, horrified. “You didn’t  _ trigger _ your father’s murders. It’s probably just logistical. With you guys out of the house in the evenings, he had more time to grab victims. That doesn’t make you responsible for the people he killed while you weren’t there to see it,” Gil insists.

“I didn’t say I was responsible, I said I was the  _ trigger _ . I’ve charted his murders against every event or trend in our family’s lives that I could think of. Some things emerged as patterns. That’s one of them. He was also more active during the months leading up to a big charity event my mom did every year. That doesn’t mean I think raising money for charity makes her responsible for his crimes,” Mal assures him.

“I think there’s a lot of value to the idea of researching triggers. But you’re not going to know what your killer’s family is up to, during a murder. Stuff like hair pulled back, tan, active in cold weather is more likely to be useful to you,” Gil points out. “Maybe even big local events like the charity or a parade. Not the kids’ extra curriculars.”

“I had a guy once tell me that if a german composer was playing when he saw a woman, he knew Hitler wanted him to cleanse her,” Mal reveals with a shudder. “Those are the kinds of connections I want to make.”

“That’s brilliant, kid. But especially when you were working for the FBI, you could only get so much information on the triggers, if you were brought in several murders in. Even with us, it’ll depend when we know we need you-  _ we _ aren’t even immediately called to every case that winds up ours. You can’t fixate on this, Malcolm. Figuring out what triggered a killer doesn’t assign blame and it  _ won’t _ bring the victims back,” Gil reminds him.

“I know! I know! And I know I shouldn’t have gone off on the Sheriff the way I did. That’s just… why,” Mal admits.

“What about when you got back to Quantico?” Gil asks.

“It was a very quick meeting. They compared me to the Surgeon. They fired me. I pointed out that they got his diagnosis wrong. I yelled at them, I left,” Mal says.

“So you saw a room that was already against you, and your best idea was to give them a scene that’d make you look bad to anyone they told the story to?” Gil asks. He’s not scolding, not yet, but his tone makes it clear what he thinks of that plan.

“Hey, they’re idiots. Psychopaths and sociopaths are not the same thing. And even if I have narcissistic traits, they’re symptomatic of the CPTSD, not co-occurring. Gabrielle and I have worked on it!” Malcolm yells, getting to his feet. “I’m not innately narcissistic, not like him, Gil. I just… the perfectionism, need for control, and the elevated emotional response both tie in to CPTSD episodes. I try to watch for them, I really do,” Malcolm turns back to him to plead for understanding.

Gil gets up to face him. “Shh, I know. I know, kid. And you chose a career that throws three triggers in your way before lunch, on a good day. And a lot of law enforcement is going to show the same personality traits that made your dad good at what he did, so sometimes the people you work with, even though they’re good people, become triggers on their own. I know, kid,” Gil tells him.

Malcolm takes a deep breath, looking honestly a little scared. “I also… oh God, Gil, you’re going to  _ kill _ me,” he says.

“What happened, kid?” Gil asks.

“I’d just finished yelling at them about how it’s their jobs to understand mental illnesses. And I got up and took my gun off and told them they should take people’s guns before they call them crazy. Then I slammed it down and left,” Malcolm admits.

“Did you point it at anyone?” Gil asks carefully.

“Of course not! I was just… mouthing off, it wasn’t supposed to be a threat. But I realized later it probably read that way,” Mal admits. “When I calmed down that night, I couldn’t believe how badly I’d handled everything,” he says miserably, wrapping his arms around his own waist.

“What are you not telling me?” Gil asks seriously.

“What?” Malcolm looks genuinely taken aback.

“Something else happened. You didn’t go from capable of talking that guy down to so far gone you punched a Sheriff that fast without a trigger. Not as hard as you’ve worked on letting go of the things you can’t control on a case. And you’ve heard the schtick about you and the Surgeon a hundred times, it wouldn’t have pushed you into a meltdown unless you were already keyed up. What aren’t you telling me? Did the Butcher hurt you?” Gil asks.

Malcolm looks stunned. He thinks for a long moment. “He called me son,” he says, realization dawning. “The Sheriff- he called me son. Told me he saved my life.”

That would do it. Gil is very, very careful never to call Mal ‘son’ because it’s a major trigger, pretty much guaranteed to send him into a flashback. He’s careful about any phrase that includes ‘boy’, the same way Mal rarely calls him ‘dad’, because they also trigger him sometimes if he’s already thinking along those lines, though Mal has worked hard at reclaiming those- ‘dad’ because he wants to be able to say it, and ‘boy’ because he’s worked with a lot of Southern cops over the years who think it’s an appropriate form of address. That’s why Gil calls him city boy, in fact- much like how Mal asked him to use Bright when he was adjusting to the new name, Mal asked for help desensitizing himself to the common nickname. Gil’s helped with other triggers over the years, and he knows what the PTSD triggers do to his kid.

“Oh, Mal,” Gil says. The kid looks halfway to another flashback, just remembering, but also horrified that he’d been unaware he’d had a PTSD episode, especially one that cost him his job. Gil holds out his arms, offering, and he’s relieved when Mal steps into the hug.

“I’m an idiot. I didn’t even  _ try _ any of the anxiety exercises when I got back to the hotel room. I went into work the next day and I was still spinning, I had to be,” he confesses miserably.

“You aren’t an idiot. You had a totally understandable reaction to a stressor,” he avoids the word trigger, given what they’d been discussing about killers and their triggers, “in a stressful situation.”

“I didn’t even do any of my centering the next morning. Just rushed to the airport,” Mal admits. “And straight from the airport to the meeting.”

“The reason you have routines is so that they’re in place when you’re too far gone to know you need them, Mal,” Gil scolds gently. Malcolm clings to him a little tighter, upset by even the small scold, so Gil pulls him in closer with a hand on the back of his neck and tells him, “Shhh, kid. You’re alright. I’ve got you, you’re home safe.”

“I realized that night I hadn’t even taken any of my meds. At the time, I used that as justification for having a drink before I called my mother,” Malcolm admits.

“Jesus, kid. No wonder you spun out. I’m just glad you made it home in one piece,” Gil says. “Considering… you got through the case amazingly well. You came back to earth and evened out fast, without any kind of extra help, just by getting back to routine. Even with new stressors.”

“Proof that the routines work, if I stick with them,” Mal admits.

“Of course they work. Between you, you and Gabrielle know more about the human mind than just about anybody,” Gil assures him.

“I’m sorry, Gil. This is one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done,” Mal admits. “How it started was bad enough, but how it ended…” he winces. “And we’ve talked about punching LEO’s before.”

“Yeah, you were fully in flashback mode by then, to not even have realized what he said until I asked directly. That one, I’m not holding against you,” Gil tells him. “The things you said to him before, on the other hand…”

“I know not to humiliate the local cops. Me going off on him is probably part of why he took the shot, to get a little of his reputation back,” Mal admits.

“No,” Gil tells him firmly. “You don’t get to blame yourself for other people’s choices, whether they’re serial killers or LEOs. It’s  _ not _ your fault he made that choice.”

“Just my choices. Like not caring if I skipped my meds, or my routines, because I was upset. And not taking the time to calm down before going into a disciplinary meeting. And yelling at my former bosses, and inadvertently threatening them,” Mal lists glumly.

“That’s about the size of it, kid,” Gil tells him regretfully. Mal has really gone for broke on this one. He’s trying to decide which will be easier on the kid, a  _ really _ hard spanking tonight or one punishment for what he did in Tennessee and one for what he did at Quantico. Then there’s how to handle the ‘you get suspended at school/work you get in trouble at home’ rule for this situation- obviously being fired is worse than being suspended, but it was the exact same ‘salt and burn before anyone can disagree or hurt me’ behavior that has been getting him in trouble since he was twelve that got Mal fired. Gil doesn’t want to blame his kid for the FBI’s prejudices.

“Should I go await execution?” Mal asks, when Gil doesn’t say anything else for a long moment. He’s being funny to cover how nervous he is, but he’s still hanging on to Gil tight.

Gil needs a plan, so he takes a breath and goes with his gut. “I believe the condemned are supposed to hear the charges and sentence first,” he teases. He guides Mal to sit down on the sofa with him, keeping a hand around the kid as he says, “There’s two major things we’re dealing with, here. What happened in Tennessee, and skipping meds and all of your routines after and the way you acted in Virginia,” Gil tells him.

“Tennessee was exactly the same kind of showing off by eviscerating anybody new that we’ve discussed over and over for the past twenty years, kid. And that’s what got you fired,” he explains. “That’s its own issue.”

Mal winces. “How does the ‘getting suspended’ rule translate to actually getting  _ fired _ ?” he asks warily.

“I think under the circumstances, a week is fair. It really wasn’t any different than the behavior that got you suspended last time. Your bosses just had their own issues with you, and your background,” Gil tells him.

Malcolm lets out a long breath, relieved. Gil had once told him when he was a kid that if he got expelled, the punishment would make the one he’d gotten for being suspended look like nothing, and he’s sure the kid was worried about just how severe he was going to be. But he’s not punishing Mal for the world’s response to him, he’s punishing him for what he  _ does. _

“And I know when I get physical I get the belt,” Malcolm whispers miserably.

Gil squeezes the back of his neck comfortingly. “That was a PTSD episode, kid, I’m not punishing you for punching him. This is about you storming in and having a nasty scene with the Sheriff, blaming him for the murders and humiliating him in front of his men.”

Mal winces. “That’s… not really any better, is it?” he asks.

Gil is proud of him for admitting that- Mal has tried to argue before that words shouldn’t count as ‘picking a fight’ if they’re true, and that he’s not responsible for how his words make people feel. Gil is very pleased to see him taking responsibility. “No, kid, it really isn’t. We’ve had this conversation a lot of times, and I do think you need the belt for this one. We’re  _ going _ to break this habit. It’s not a good coping mechanism,” he tells the kid firmly.

“Yes, sir,” Mal says quietly, straightening up so he’s not leaning into Gil anymore.

“We’re going to deal with Tennessee and start the bedtime spankings tonight. We’ll tackle what happened after on Sunday,” Gil warns him.

Mal winces, obviously picking up on the fact that Gil’s giving him a day to recover between spankings- though he’ll still be getting a bedtime spanking that night. “You don’t skip your meds, or ignore your routines. Especially while you’re traveling for cases, Mal. It’s too important. You know how dangerous that can be, and how hard it can be to get back on track. And you  _ definitely _ don’t throw tantrums at work when you don’t get your way,” Gil says, bluntly describing Malcolm’s behavior as he sees it.

“I wasn’t- they were  _ wrong!” _ Malcolm whines.

Gil raises an eyebrow. “And does that justify anything you choose to do?” he asks, immediately stern and uncompromising.

Mal gulps, looking a little wide eyed. “No, sir.”

“Do you get to throw fits just because you think other people are wrong? Or act out because you don’t like someone else’s decision?” Gil presses, stern and scolding. Mal did great talking about Tennessee- that’s something he’s faced before. But he still feels wronged by the way he was fired, and Gil honestly doesn’t blame him for that. Still, Mal  _ wants _ to be able to stay in the world of profiling. And antagonizing the entire FBI  _ does not help with that goal. _

“No, sir,” Malcolm whispers, looking miserable.

“I know it hurts, kid. And they were wrong about you. I promise. But no matter what  _ they _ do, my expectations of you don’t change. There’s nowhere in law enforcement in America you can go and not eventually run into the FBI, kid. You light up that bridge, a lot of others you don’t think about being connected burn down too,” Gil explains.

Mal is clenching his hands so tightly his fists are shaking. “I’m so stupid!” he cries, getting up to pace the room. “I was doing everything I ever wanted to, I was making a difference, and I can’t even control my screwed up brain well enough to pass for normal! Then once I’ve made them too nervous to keep me around I  _ prove their point, _ trying to show off about how smart I am. They don’t care if I’m smart, they think I’m crazy! All I know how to be is a profiler. It’s what I’m good at, it’s what I want to do… I was in the  _ FBI. _ I was actually doing something right. Something you were proud of, Jackie was proud of- even mom said if I was going to be a cop, at least I picked the FBI. And then I ruined the one thing I ever got right.” Malcolm leans against the wall, unable to face his dad.

Gil is stunned by this outpouring of miserable grief. He’d known Malcolm staked a lot of his self esteem on being a good profiler- the kid has no personal life, he’s let most of his hobbies fall by the wayside as he got busy with work- but he didn’t realize until just now how much of Mal’s sense of how his  _ family _ views him was caught up in his job.

“Kid. Kid. Working for the FBI isn’t the only thing you ever got right,” Gil says softly, standing up. “You’re a brilliant profiler, and where you’re doing it doesn’t change how good you are, I promise. Yes, we were proud of you when you started with the FBI. You set a goal and you reached it. But being proud of something you accomplish is such a small part of the whole package, kid. One accomplishment isn’t all that matters. And losing a title doesn’t change the way I see you, even a little. I’m still proud of you, Mal, because you’re a hell of a profiler, and you keep doing it, keep helping, even though it’s hard. Because you’re brave enough to face your PTSD to solve these crimes. Because you didn’t let yourself fall apart when you got fired. You came home when you needed us. That’s huge, kid. And even in the middle of all of that, when  _ I _ needed  _ you _ for a case, you took on  _ the hardest one of your career _ for you personally, and you  _ solved _ it. You saved lives- not just victims. My team. People I care about.”

Gil has been slowly walking toward Mal as he spoke and now, making sure the kid can see him, he reaches out, gently stroking the base of his neck. “Jackie wouldn’t have loved you any less either. We’d have had to stop her calling your old Unit Chief to tell him how stupid  _ she _ thought he was,” Gil assures him. “She was fierce when someone wronged you.”

Mal turns to face him, and Gil is unsurprised to see that he’s crying. He pulls the kid close, shushing and soothing him. This is why he’d wanted to keep this conversation in the living room- there’s a lot going on here besides what Mal did wrong. Gil wants to separate that, very clearly.

“You’re not disappointed in me?” Mal asks desperately, speaking into Gil’s shoulder. “I mean, I know you’re disappointed I made bad choices with the Sheriff and meds and routines and yelling at Chiefs. But, like who I am? You’re not disappointed this is the mess all your years of hard work has turned out as?” he asks.

Mal likes to watch for tells. If he’s asking a question like that, buried in Gil’s shoulder where he can’t see, he’s not asking to confirm something he already knows. He’s asking something he’s  _ hoping _ for, and he’s scared it’s not true.

So Gil very, very gently peels Mal off of his shoulder, wrapping one hand around the kid’s shoulder to hold him half a step back and cupping the side of his head with the other. He coaxes the kid to look at him, making sure he’s got Malcolm’s full attention as he tells him, “Absolutely not.  _ You _ are not a mess. This situation is a mess, the past week has been a mess.  _ You _ are a brilliant, strong, amazing young man I’m proud to call my kid.”

Point made, Gil crushes Mal back against his chest, unsurprised that the reassurance has opened the floodgates and Mal is crying hard, now. He just holds his kid tight, loving him as hard as he can as he waits for the storm to pass. They’ve weathered storms together before. Gil knows they’ll get through this one, too.

Slowly, Mal calms down. He seems looser in Gil’s arms, lighter- like he’s released a burden he’s been carrying for a while. Gil is glad. He’s also not sure spanking the kid tonight is a good idea, on top of all of this. Emotional upheavals are hard on Mal, and punishment is its own kind of catharsis.

So, when Mal asks, “Time to get it over with?” Gil hesitates.

“Check in with your brain for me,” he requests. “How are you holding up? This was important, kid, and it was a lot.”

“I feel… very secure,” Mal tells him, almost bemused. “That’s a weird answer, but… as scared as I was, to tell you everything… I was also like, 70% sure you’d still love me. I mean, I expected more, ‘I raised you better,’ and  _ that _ was the part I was really dreading. You feeling like you’re wasting your time on me because I just never learn,” he admits.

“You learn. It’s not always fast and it’s not always linear, but you learn,” Gil assures him. “You made the connection that what you said to the Sheriff was as bad as hitting him, without me pointing it out. How many times have we argued about whether you use words as weapons? That’s big, kid. You did good.”

Mal lights up under the praise. Gil isn’t surprised- the kid’s doing well, but he needs reassurance right now. He also obviously wants to get the punishment over, and Gil does think it would be good to have it in the past, and to get it there while this realization- that he’s more than these mistakes, that a few days of bad choices don’t define him- is fresh in the kid’s head.

If he listens to what Mal’s just said about where his head is and makes sure he keeps the scolding focused on this specific incident, not the pattern of repeatedly making mistakes like this, Mal should be okay. He’ll give the kid plenty of reassurance that he’s being good, and getting the spanking out of the way so Mal’s that much closer to a clean slate will help.

“Then let’s get it over with,” Gil says gently. “Go get the belt and meet me in your room, kid.” The order is softly given, but firm. He’s going to spank Mal, but he’s not angry, and Mal sees that. He goes, apprehensive but not reluctant, to follow instructions.

Gil’s not making him wait, today. He heads straight down the hall, too, and he’s sitting on the bed when Malcolm returns with the belt. Mal hands it over and comes to stand in front of his dad, and he looks apprehensive, sure, but he’s steady. There’s no hypervigilance, nothing that makes him think the kid is worried about anything but how sore his butt’s about to be.

Gil decides to take his cues from Mal, and since the kid has come to stand in front of him instead of beside him, he tugs him closer and unfastens Mal’s belt. He knows he made the right call when Mal doesn’t protest, only rests his hands on Gil’s shoulders for balance as his slacks are pulled down. The kid’s dressed casually at home- the slacks and t-shirt he’d worn to therapy, but no shoes. Figuring all they’ll be doing between now and bed is spankings and watching TV, Gil suggests, “Might want to just kick these off, change into something more comfortable after.”

Mal obediently balances on Gil’s shoulders as he steps out of his pants, kicking them toward the closet. Then he drops his hands to his sides, moving obediently when Gil tugs him over his lap. Mal immediately wraps a hand around Gil’s leg, which is unusual. Usually, he does that once he’s so sore he can barely stand it, not before they’ve even started. Figuring the kid needs a little extra connection, today, Gil puts his left hand gently on the back of Mal’s head, stroking lightly, instead of resting on his back. He’ll adjust if Mal needs help staying still. For now, he’s thinking contact is more important.

Indeed, Mal takes a breath and settles more fully across Gil’s lap. He’s ready. “What is this spanking for?” Gil asks.

“Being rude… more than rude, hostile, to the local cops. I didn’t even try to work with them, I walked in having decided they were useless and I made sure they knew it. I antagonized everyone I met, and I said some really terrible things to the Sheriff, and humiliated him in front of his men,” Mal admits.

“That’s exactly right, kid. Good job.” Gil begins warming Mal up with light, crisp spanks, spread out over his dark briefs. He makes each spank sting, and Mal hisses when Gil spanks low on his sitspots, where not all of his skin is protected by his underwear. Gil keeps swatting, firmly and randomly, until  _ all _ the spanks are getting little, pained noises. He pauses, tapping Mal’s hip in instruction. “Lift up, kid.”

Mal has brought the hand that was around Gil’s leg back up to bury his face in, and now he pushes himself up on his elbows on the bed, lifting his whole body so Gil can slide down his underwear. He does, and Malcolm makes a breathy noise of surprise as the cool air of the room touches his warm cheeks.

Mal is nicely warmed up- a good, even pink Gil knows stings. He strokes the back of Mal’s hair with his left thumb before he scolds, “You are not a one man police force. You have to be able to work with other people. Even if they aren’t as smart as you. Even if they make mistakes. Even if you think those mistakes have made the case worse. Because  _ not _ working with them is  _ your _ mistake.” He gives Mal a firm swat to his bare bottom with each word, and the heavy, emphasizing spanks make the kid whimper, pointing his toes as he obviously tries to keep still.

“You’re allowed to react when it hurts, Mal,” Gil reminds the kid, giving him some extra firm spanks to his sit spots as encouragement. He continues alternating cheek to cheek in that low, sensitive area. He swats the poor kid’s sore sit spots until Mal howls, kicking his feet frantically. “Good boy, let it out,” Gil encourages, giving him his hardest spank yet, across the bottom of both cheeks.

“Owww, owww, it hurts, Gil! Oh, it hurts!” Mall tells him. It had taken Gil a while to figure out- Mal isn’t begging him to stop (though after a certain point, that’s not out of the question), nor is he necessarily surprised, or thinking Gil is unaware. But he’s practically  _ trained _ the kid to tell him what he’s feeling, especially when something’s wrong. Now, he does it during a spanking when he’s feeling overwhelmed.

“I know, kid, but you’re doing great.” It helps to give Mal something concrete to focus on, at this point, so he considers the kid’s bottom, remembering he’s got a strapping coming after he finishes the hand spanking, and tells him, “You’ve got twenty more spanks before we move on to the belt, kiddo. You can do this.”

Gil makes those final twenty count, spreading them out across the kid’s hot bottom, hard slaps with a little pause between each one for the spank to sink in before the next one lands. He’s not trying to overwhelm the kid, or break down any kind of resistance. Mal knows what he did wrong and he regrets it. This spanking is about consistency, and reinforcing those boundaries.

Mal is sounding decidedly teary by the time the last hand spank lands. Gil takes a moment to stroke his hair, before regretfully telling him, “You don’t pick fights with your coworkers, Mal. It’s not a good way to make people listen to you. I’m going to give you two dozen with the belt. And you’re going to remember this when you have to work with new people, and treat them with respect.”

He almost always gives Mal a number at the beginning of a belting. The belt is overwhelming for the kid- physically, the burn on already spanked skin is a kind of pain he has very little resistance toward, and emotionally, the knowledge that he’s screwed up badly enough for Gil to decide he deserved the belt in the first place always upsets him. By telling him how many he’s got coming, Gil is giving him something to focus on, so hopefully the lesson sticks through the stress.

The first lick with the belt makes Mal arch up, whining. Gil absolutely  _ hates _ causing the kid pain, but he makes himself keep going anyway. By the sixth lick, Mal is sobbing. By the tenth, he cries, “Gil!”

That’s all he says, just his name, and Gil’s not sure what he needs. But he lands two more licks and tells the kid, “Right here, Mal. We’re halfway done. You’re okay, I promise.” He speeds up the spanks, just wanting to get it over with. Mal yelps and howls, kicking frantically, and collapses across Gil’s lap when the last lick lands, done in.

“Oh, kid,” Gil says, fixing Mal’s underwear before he can object so that he can pull the kid up and into his arms.

Mal clings desperately, whining, “Suh, sorry! M’sorry Gil, sorry.”

Gil just holds him and pets him, assuring him everything’s okay, that he’s forgiven, that he’s safe with Gil. Mal burrows his head against him, clinging fingers twisting into Gil’s shirt. “You’re okay, kid, I promise, you’re fine. I’ve got you. I know it hurts. I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

“I know,” Malcolm mumbles at him.

“What?” Gil asks, thrown.

“I know I’m safe. I don’t feel… not safe. I’m okay. I know I’m okay,” Mal assures him, still teary but sounding less shaky.

“You sure? You sounded more upset than just…” Gil keeps one hand around his kid, but waves the other to encompass everything about the punishment.

“It’s… been a long week,” Mal says with a self deprecating smile.

“I’ll say. Why don’t you put pants on and we’ll veg out on the couch for a little while, see if we can’t make this weekend a little less dramatic, huh?” Gil tells him.

“With us? I’m not sure if that’s possible,” Mal tells him, but he’s smiling. They stand up, and Gil can’t resist tugging him close, wrapping a hand around the back of Mal’s neck and pressing their foreheads together. Mal takes a deep breath, smiling gratefully at him when they separate.

Gil is flipping through channels when Mal joins him. The kid sits on his hip and leans heavily into Gil, who asks, “Anything in particular you want to watch?”

“Not the news,” Mal tells him, burrowing closer. “Don’t care.”

Gil shifts, turning toward Mal to make it easier for the kid to cuddle. Mal turns in toward him, leaning against Gil’s chest. Gil wraps an arm around him and settles on an I Love Lucy rerun. They watch TV quietly, Gil laughing softly and Mal going slowly boneless. He’s not asleep, but he’s definitely halfway there, and Gil is glad to see him relax.

After a couple of episodes of I Love Lucy, it switches to I Dream of Jeannie. Gil isn’t normally much of a TV watcher, but it’s a good excuse to keep Mal close, so he watches an episode of that, too, before looking at the clock and stretching. It’s ten. Probably about time to get ready for bed.

“We should think about turning in soon,” he tells Malcolm.

“I need a shower,” the kid decides.

“You do that, and let me know when you’re out,” Gil requests. They’ve got one more thing to take care of, tonight.

Mal nods, looking apprehensive at the reminder, and returns to his room to get clothes before going to shower. Gil gets up, stretching and shutting off the TV, and goes to the kitchen to start thinking about a grocery list. He’s going to need to go to the store this weekend. He doesn’t cook much, when it’s just him. But he’s guessing Mal is going to hang around for a couple of days while they get through the punishments the kid’s got coming, They’re going to need food.

Gil has the beginnings of a grocery list going when Mal pads into the kitchen barefoot in pajamas, his hair still damp. “Hi,” he says softly.

“Hey, kid,” Gil says. “I’m doing a grocery list. Anything special you think we should have this week?”

Mal considers this. “I’m probably spending most of the week here, right?” he asks.

“Probably easiest. If you need to spend a night at home, I’ll just swing by on my way home from the station,” Gil assures him. “Who knows, we may wind up calling you in if we get anything interesting.”

“Tomatoes, garlic, ricotta, fresh basil, maybe romano? And probably extra flour and eggs, I doubt I’m gonna get it right first try,” Mal requests.

Gil dutifully writes the requests down, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. “I need a project, till you guys need me. I’m going to learn to make pasta,” Mal decides.

“Sounds good,” Gil tells him easily.

“You say that now. Wait until you have to eat my attempts,” Mal teases him.

“If it sucks, we’ll toss it and order pizza and you can try again,” Gil assures him, smiling. He’s glad Mal is thinking of things to do with his time that don’t involve investigation or murder.

“That’s fair,” Malcolm agrees.

“You about ready for bed, kid?” Gil asks.

Mal winces. “Yeah.” Gil knows the kid dreads bedtime spankings. Better to just get it over with.

Malcolm leads the way back to his room, standing, fidgety, beside his bed as he waits for his dad to take a seat. “C’mere, kiddo,” Gil requests once he’s sat down. Mal comes reluctantly closer, so Gil can tug down the soft workout pants he sleeps in. Gil rests a hand on the kid’s hip to steady him and Mal shies away.

“Hey, you’re okay. I know you’re sore, kid, and I’m not going to give you more than you can take. Let’s get this over with, huh?” Gil coaxes.

Mal allows himself to be tugged over Gil’s lap reluctantly. He’s holding himself tense, obviously dreading even a mild reprimand. Gil strokes his back soothingly and reminds him, “This spanking is for attacking the people you were sent to work with, instead of cooperating and being polite.”

Gil is aware that the kid is incredibly sore. He gives him a dozen spanks, spread out as evenly as he can manage, before deciding it’s enough of a warm up. “Lift,” he prompts gently, putting a hand on the waistband of Mal’s underwear.

Mal whines, twisting his body like he wants to get away. “Remember kid, either you’re good for me and they come down now, or you’re naughty and I spank your legs  _ before _ they come down.”

Malcolm lifts his hips slightly and Gil slides his underwear down to his knees. “Good, kid,” Gil tells him. “That was a good choice.”

Malcolm buries his head in his crossed arms, not responding. That’s okay. Gil knows he can hear. “Even when somebody isn’t as smart as you, or has a different background, they can help, and you’ll never have the chance to work with them if you drive them off,” he scolds. He doesn’t usually scold Mal much during bedtime spankings, but he’s thinking re-addressing the issue when he has the chance might help avoid repeats with the team. With that admonishment, he begins spanking.

Mal is already very red, with a few lines of deeper color where the belt landed hard. Gil’s sure the spanks he’s already gotten have reawakened the fire from earlier. That’s the worst part of bedtime spankings- getting the first one on an incredibly sore bottom. But this is not a lesson Gil wants to keep reteaching, so he gives Mal a sincere, if short, spanking, laying down random slaps across his red bottom while the kid twists and yelps.

Mal actually starts to reach back, once, but he catches himself, wrapping his hand tightly around Gil’s leg instead. “Good call,” Gil tells him, continuing to spank methodically.

The last two licks of the belt were the hardest he gave Mal earlier, and he landed them low, where the kid sits. He can still see the marks clearly, and now Gil focuses on spanking over those two red smudges, blending them in to the hot soreness around them.

Mal  _ howls. _ “No, no, no, please, Gil, please stop!” he begs, desperate.

“I’m afraid not, Malcolm. We’ve got a little more to go,” Gil warns him regretfully. Malcolm kicks, once, in a deliberate display of temper, muttering something Gil can’t quite understand.

“What was that?” Gil asks.

“Oh noooo,” Mal whispers to himself, horrified to realize Gil heard him. “Didn’ mean it, Gil.”

“I didn’t hear you, kid. What did you say?” Gil asks.

“Wasn’t nice,” Mal admits. Gil keeps methodically slapping Mal’s sore bottom as he considers this.

“Sometimes when we’re tired or upset, not nice things slip out,” Gil muses. He  _ really _ doesn’t want to add any extras to this spanking- they’d be done if the kid had just kept his mouth shut, but even as he slows down his spanks, he knows better than to let Mal connect his acting out with the end of his spanking.

“What do we say when that happens?” Gil asks. The kid’s sore enough, Gil will let him off with an apology. He’s still spanking, though, slow but steady, so it takes Mal a second to answer.

“Ahhhh, sorry, Gil! M’sorry!” Mal assures him. “Ohhh,” he whines, when Gil returns to focusing on his ruby colored sit spots. He’s lost his battle with tears, unsurprisingly. It’s time to end this.

“Eight more spanks,” Gil decides. It’ll let him cover Mal’s whole bottom one last time and give his sit spots an extra dose. Mal nods his understanding, and Gil feels the kid’s grip on his leg tighten.

He makes them good, solid whallops, nothing hard enough for any danger of bruising but sincere spanks Mal will feel. Mal cries piteously through every one, his shoulders shaking. When the spanking’s over, Gil just lets him lie there for a long moment, rubbing the kid’s back, until Mal’s tears begin to taper off.

“Ready to get your pants up?” he asks, wincing sympathetically. It may have been a little spanking, but Mal was burning red when they started. He’s got to be hurting even worse, now.

Mal nods tremulously, but doesn’t try to answer. Gil knows he’s still crying. He fixes Mal’s underwear and pants for him, with minimal positioning help from the kid himself, and slowly raises Mal to kneel beside him on the bed.

Mal goes from having his face buried in his comforter to burying it in Gil’s shoulder, clinging tight. “Owwww, oww,” he whines.

Gil rubs the poor kid’s head. “I know, Mal, I know. Just hang on to me, the worst of the sting will be over soon,” he reminds him.

Mal shudders against him, and Gil holds him tight for a long moment. When he’s breathing a little easier and no longer crying, Gil asks, “How are you holding up, kiddo?”

“I’m okay.” Mal sits up, blinking away leftover tears, to face him. “My butt hurts,” he whines.

“It should. You were very naughty, weren’t you?” Gil asks him gently.

Mal nods. “Sorry,” he says quietly.

“You’re forgiven, kid. The bedtime spankings are just to help you remember not to do it again,” Gil reminds him.

“Never,” Mal assures him, childlike and insistent.

“I hope not. But if you do, what am I going to do?” Gil asks.

Mal shudders, wide eyed, “Spank my bottom hard!” he announces, clinging to Gil as if looking for protection from the idea. The kid’s half asleep sitting up. Gil needs to get him to bed.

“Let’s get you tucked in,” he suggests. Mal sits back on his heels so Gil can stand up, arching up and hissing when his sore bottom makes contact. “Yeah, you’re sleeping on your stomach tonight. C’mon, stretch out and I’ll help with the cuffs,” Gil offers.

Mal obediently stretches to lay prone across his bed, offering his wrists for Gil to fasten into the cuffs but doing nothing else to help. He’s tired and drained to his limit, poor kid. Gil fastens both wrist restraints, then pops the mouth guard into Mal’s mouth, petting his head. “You want me to stay with you till you fall asleep?” he asks.

Mal nods, so Gil turns off the light and returns to the bed, sitting beside Malcolm and petting his back. Mal turns his face toward Gil, giving him a small smile, and drifts to sleep. Gil pets him for a few more minutes, relieved the kid fell asleep so easily.

That’s honestly another benefit of bedtime spankings, though one Gil is conflicted about. They’re hard on Mal, which he hates, but it does wear the kid out. And Malcolm is always a little softer, at the end of a spanking. During the punishment, there’s nothing he can do except give control of the situation over to Gil, and that carries over afterwards. It can make it easier to get the kid to sleep or eat. Gil would never spank Malcolm  _ just _ to force him to slow down and get some rest, but he has to admit he’s grateful when the kid drifts off easily.

“Sleep well, kid,” Gil tells him now, getting up to go get ready for bed himself. He leaves Malcolm’s door ajar, just incase the kid needs him during the night.


	6. Treats and Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mal gets his next bedtime spanking, then the second real punishment his behavior at the FBI earned him. In between, he and Gil spend a weekend enjoying being a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter has some of my favorite moments of the fic. They get a moment finally to stop worrying about cases or punishment and just be together, and I love their bond so much! That said, this fic covers Saturday and Sunday of their weekend, so there's bedtime spankings and the other real spanking Mal earned. Poor kid!

Saturday is a good day. Gil hears it when Mal wakes up with a yell around five thirty, but he tells Gil to go back to sleep, that he's just going to do yoga. Gil gets up at nine and the kid has mixed the stuff for omelettes and grins brightly when Gil comes into the kitchen.

"Morning!" Mal chirps happily.

"Morning," Gil tells him, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He wakes up over breakfast, and he's glad to see Mal looking cheerful, though he's definitely sitting carefully.

"I need to go feed Sunshine after breakfast," Mal tells him.

"I'll drive you over, and we can go grocery shopping after," Gil offers.

"Sounds good. I'll want to let her out for a while, love on her some," Mal tells him.

"Do you want to just bring her over for the week?" Gil asks.

Mal considers this idea. "She hates driving. I think it's better to just go check on her," he says, glancing at Gil to see if his dad is okay with this plan.

"No problem, kid. It was an offer, not an order, right?" Gil reminds him.

"Yeah." Malcolm nods, decisively.

Gil gets ready while Mal cleans up the kitchen, and they leave for Mal's apartment. Mal can't sit still on the drive over, and Gil winces sympathetically as he realizes why. Poor kid. Gil doesn't regret giving him one lick of what he earned, but he hates seeing Malcolm in pain. He also had a sneaking suspicion his kid is still going to be tender when bedtime rolls around. It's not unheard of for day two of bedtime spankings to go on a still sore bottom, but Gil hates it. Given that day three is going to include "big spanking" two, it's going to be a rough weekend for the kid.

With that in mind, Gil decides to just focus on spoiling his kid this weekend- all of the fun things he can think of, that they haven't gotten to do since Mal got back.

While Malcolm feeds Sunshine, Gil texts Ainsley, and the three of them have lunch in Central Park. Mal pokes at the pasta salad they picked up at the market and completely ignores Gil's offer to share his own sandwich, but the kid does eat some fruit, and he had protein at breakfast, so Gil doesn't push.

They go back to Mal's apartment after saying goodbye to Ainsley, and they let Sunshine out to play some more. Gil amuses them both by trying to teach her to fetch with the leaves off the top of a strawberry he brought her from lunch, and she doesn't quite get the "bring it back" part but has great fun chasing leaves around the loft. Malcolm gets her to dance with him and Gil sits back and grins, loving the kid's rare, uncomplicated joy. Sunshine really is good for him.

They brave Trader Joe's next, working their way down Gil's list and picking up anything that looks interesting. It’s busy, people jostling and bumping into each other in true New Yorker fashion, but Mal takes it all in stride, smiling at Gil as he edges through crowds the basket won’t fit between and holds ingredients aloft triumphantly.

“Anything in particular you want for breakfast this week?” Gil asks, looking over the yogurt. Mal shrugs, and Gil holds up a lemon yogurt. “Yogurt’s not too heavy,” he suggests.

“I’d rather get vanilla and get lemon curd for it,” Mal says reluctantly. “Bland if my stomach’s really iffy, and I can add the lemon if it’s a good day.”

“Smart,” Gil tells him, tossing a few vanilla yogurts into the cart as Mal wanders off to find his lemon curd.

They get the groceries home and between the two of them they make quick work of putting them away. Gil silently enjoys just having Mal  _ home. _ The simple pleasure of having the kid around, knowing he’s safe and cared for, overwhelms him suddenly with gratitude, and as he passes Mal to put the yogurt in the fridge he grabs the kid by the head and kisses his hair.

“What was that for?” Mal asks, looking amused.

“I’m just glad you’re home, kid. It’s good to have you in the house. And when you aren’t here, to know you’re in the city, close,” Gil explains.

“I missed you too,” Malcolm says simply, smiling back at him.

They both agree that they’re too tired from shopping to cook, so they drop into the sports bar in the neighborhood for dinner, playing a few games of pool after they eat. Malcolm is, as always, excellent at the mechanics of the game, but he’s only half paying attention as they talk and play, more for something to do with their hands than out of any real competition. When a pool shark approaches them, he looks at Gil hopefully, silently begging to beat the man at his own game, and Gil only smiles, stepping back to let them play.

Mal isn’t just good at pool- he’s devastatingly good at reading an opponent. He keeps their new friend Ken off balance with casual, seemingly friendly chatter the whole game, staying just enough behind to make the other man over-confident before sinking the game winning shot.

“What- how?” Ken asks, baffled.

“I’m better at this than I look,” Mal tells him with a smile.

“I want a rematch,” Ken says, looking frustrated and angry. Nobody likes being beaten at their own game.

“Sorry, we need to be heading out,” Gil tells him, shooting Mal a firm look so he knows not to argue.

“Aww, did Daddy decide you can’t come out and play?” Ken jeers, obviously trying to rile Malcolm up.

Gil winces, not sure if ‘Daddy’ in this context will hit Mal’s triggers. He’s ready to haul the kid out if he has to, but Mal only smiles.

“Well, he actually  _ is _ my dad, and my ride, so I guess he did,” Mal tells Ken easily. “It’s been a pleasure playing with you,” he says with a genuine smile, offering his hand for a shake.

Ken is obviously surprised not to get the fight he was spoiling for. He shakes Mal’s hand, shaking his head. “You’re a weird dude, Bright.”

Again, Gil holds his breath, but Mal only smiles. “I get that a lot,” he tells Ken, turning to walk away. Gil is startled when, a second later, Mal’s hand shoots out, lightning fast, to grab Ken’s arm. “I’ll take that back, please,” he says, his voice soft but dangerous.

Ken has apparently picked Mal’s pocket. But he’s been caught, the fifty they’d each bet on the game in his hand.

The bartender, Joe, who has known Malcolm since the kid was an actual kid, coming in with Gil occasionally to watch a game, reaches under the bar. Gil isn’t sure if he’s reaching for his phone (unlikely- he knows Gil is a cop) or his bat, but he’s sure that Joe has their back.

With that thought in mind, Gil reaches for his badge but holds off on making a scene, just yet.

“You cheated,” Ken accuses.

“I  _ beat _ you. It’s not my fault you scoped me as an easy mark. I wasn’t competing with my dad, we were just playing. It’s a shame you’re afraid to play people as good as you- you’re a pretty decent player,” Mal tells him.

“You calling me a coward?” Ken challenges.

“I’m calling you a pool shark. You know it, I know it, Joe over there knows it. Now, if you don’t play fair games against real opponents, all you had to do was say so.” Mal plucks the money out of the shocked man’s hand, keeping one fifty but returning the other. “We can cancel the bet, since you didn’t know I can play. I didn’t come in here to win money. But I’d like to go home, now, so unless you’re going to hit me- at which point you’re going to find out I’m a highly trained former FBI agent, my dad is the Lieutenant in charge of Major Crimes for NYPD, and Joe over there is an Army vet with a baseball bat- I’d like to say goodnight.”

Ken just stares at Mal as he turns and walks away. Gil watches him until Mal is at the door, then shoots him a warning look and turns to follow his kid. Joe will watch their backs.

Mal is waiting by the Le Mans, breathing heavily. Gil unlocks the car and they get in, and Malcolm says, “I can’t believe I just…”

“You did great, kid. You disarmed him, instead of antagonizing him. If you’d called him a cheater, or a thief, he’d have hit you. But you did the same thing you did during the game- said just enough to keep him off balance,” Gil tells him.

Malcolm grins. Gil knows his kid- he had as much fun stopping Ken pickpocketing him as he did beating him at pool. Gil smiles fondly, shaking his head.

Malcolm’s good mood lasts until they get home. He turns on the nightly news, and Gil lets him watch one cycle through the next commercial break before saying, “It’s about time for bed, kid.” It’s after ten, and Gil hasn’t made Mal follow a hard and fast bedtime since he was in school, but he’s learned to steer the kid to bed before eleven- especially when he’s got a bedtime spanking coming. 

“Gilll,” Malcolm whines. “I’m not tired.”

Gil has learned not to have that argument. Mal has been sleeping so badly for so long he doesn’t know what tired feels like, anymore. “Regardless, it’s time for bed,” he says, reaching out and taking the remote to turn off the TV when Mal turns away, pointedly ignoring him.

“Hey, I was watching that!” Mal yelps, immediately annoyed.

“Malcolm, we still have something to take care of before bed. And whether you are tired or not, I am. So let’s get your spanking done, so we can get some sleep,” Gil scolds.

“Oh, come on, Gil! It was a good day. You don’t have to be a jerk,” Malcolm whines.

“I’m not. I’m just not letting you get away with anything, kid. Now come on,” Gil says.

“I need a shower,” Malcolm stalls.

Gil considers him. He  _ could _ tell the kid he can shower in the morning, but Mal usually showers at night, and it might give him a minute to himself to calm down. “Twenty minutes,” he compromises, knowing Mal’s showers usually take less than fifteen. “If you aren’t ready for me in your room by then, it’ll be extras.”

“Control freak,” Mal mutters, obviously thinking Gil can’t hear him since he’s still facing the now dark TV screen.

“In addition to the dozen your smart mouth just earned you,” Gil adds smoothly. “Time starts now. If I were you, I’d get moving, kid.”

Mal looks at him worriedly, but gets to his feet. He edges around Gil, apparently worried his dad is going to try for an early start, but Gil just watches him calmly, waiting until Mal is in the bathroom to lock up, shutting off the lights in the kitchen and living area and going to change into pajamas himself. He wasn’t lying when he said he was tired- he’ll be going to bed as soon as they’re done, unless Mal turns his sulky attitude into enough of a fit that he works himself up and needs Gil to stay with him once the spanking is over. It’s happened more than once.

Gil rarely institutes bedtime spankings, but Mal always takes them hard. The kid understands the purpose- repeat the lesson in the hopes of making it sink in, plus add enough of an extra consequence that repeated misbehavior is extremely unappealing- but he  _ hates _ knowing that, no matter how good of a day they have, he’s getting spanked at the end. So Gil isn’t really surprised the kid is acting out, especially given that he’s still not willingly sitting with his full weight on his bottom. The trouble is, Gil is still going to have to spank him for the attitude. Hopefully, the shower will give Mal time to calm down and he’ll get himself under control.

Like he’s set his own timer, Mal walks out of the bathroom exactly twenty minutes after Gil told him his time was starting. Unfortunately, Gil is waiting for him when he comes out damp and wearing only his towel.

“Twenty minutes is up, kid,” he tells Mal sternly.

“And I’m in my room. I’ll get changed and be ready for you in just a minute,” Malcolm tells him, his tone snotty, trying to intimidate him out the door. Gil doesn’t budge.

“I said ready for me, not just in here. So I’m going to assume this is how you want to start your spanking. Bold choice, going straight to bare,” Gil tells him.

Mal looks at him wide eyed. “No! I didn’t mean to-”

“You thought you’d test me and push for a little extra time, didn’t you?” Gil asks firmly. Malcolm glances away, but nods.

“Well, you miscalculated, kid,” Gil says, steering him toward the bed. He quickly divests Mal of his towel and pulls the now very sorry young man over his knee. Malcolm really was cutting it as close as he could- his shoulder was wet where Gil had gripped him, and the rest of his skin is equally damp. Apparently, he jumped out of the shower and slung the towel on without drying off.

“Now, let’s get those extras for the rudeness in the living room out of the way first,” Gil says, spanking Mal hard on his left thigh. The kid yelps, obviously shocked at the sting. “Damp skin stings worse,” Gil reminds him, and Malcolm groans.

Mal yelps and hollers through a dozen good slaps to the very tops of his thighs. He’s clearly feeling mighty sorry for himself when Gil stops, putting a hand on his back. “Let’s try to make it through this spanking without earning any more extras, what do you say, Mal?” Gil asks softly.

“Please no, Gil, it  _ hurts,” _ Mal whines. “I was good all day!”

“That doesn’t get you out of spankings you’ve already earned _. _ What is  _ this _ spanking for, Malcolm Charles?” Gil asks, using the kid’s middle name as a warning.

Mal whines. “Gil, no, owwww!” he pleads.

Gil gives the tops of each of Mal’s thighs two more spanks. “I’m hearing you want more extras before we get started,” he warns.

“Please, please, please don’t! I’m sorry for stalling! Please let me dry off and get changed, Gil, it already hurts from yesterday,” Mal cries.

“I’m sorry you’re getting another bedtime spanking on a sore bottom, kid, but that’s what happens when you’re really naughty. And if tonight stings more because you didn’t dry off, sometimes your choices catch up with you in ways you didn’t expect,” Gil tells him. “Now, why am I spanking your bottom again tonight?” he asks.

“Be polite,” Mal murmurs, clearly settling into sulky anger when pleading doesn’t work.

“That’s right. When you’re working, you need to be polite to everyone, even if they’re not as smart as you,” Gil reminds him, giving the kid his first spank.

The kicked puppy yelp it gets him tells Gil that Mal is still significantly sore, and that spanks on damp skin are absolutely unbearable. He hates it, but it’s very much the kid’s own fault. Gil repeats the slap on the other cheek anyway, giving Mal another measured, steady dozen spanks before pausing. This is usually where he’d pull down the kid’s underwear. Instead, he checks the blushing bottom before him. Mal has heated up quickly- probably because he never had a chance to completely recover.

“Was getting the warm up bare worth your little bit of defiance?” Gil asks sternly.

“Nooooo,” Malcolm tells him, already crying softly.

“Well, then why don’t you be good for me for the rest of your spanking? Can you do that?” Gil asks, softening his tone in the face of the kid’s misery.

“Promise, dad,” Mal says, wrapping his arms tightly around Gil’s left leg to anchor himself.

“Good boy,” Gil tells him. He flinches when he realizes what he’s said, but Malcolm only makes a pleased sound and clings tighter. “Here we go.”

He slaps Mal’s bottom fast and light, spreading quick stingers across the sore cheeks. Malcolm yelps, actually almost managing to twist off of Gil’s lap before he gets him settled back down, clamping his right leg over the frantic ones across his knee.

Malcolm whines and pleads as Gil continues spanking, obviously done in. Gil’s giving him a hard lesson tonight, to avoid any more nights of pushback and attitude, but it’s not a severe spanking. It’s all sharp sting- the kid will be completely recovered when he wakes up. Secure in that knowledge, Gil spanks Mal a little longer, watching his cheeks blush a soft red before he stops.

“That was a harder bedtime spanking than usual, wasn’t it?” he asks Mal sternly.

The kid nods, lying over his lap and crying. He’d given up on twisting away and is now lying limp, crying about his sore bottom.

“Do you know why?” Gil asks next. Mal shakes his head, damp hair flopping. “Bedtime spankings are supposed to help you really think about why you’re not going to do it again, right?” Gil asks him.

“I won’t, Gil. I won’t be rude ever again,” Mal promises him desperately.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, kid,” Gil tells him. “When you accept that you made a mistake and show me you want to do better, it’s just a little spanking, to remind you. When you act like a brat and try to resist your punishment, that shows me you aren’t taking your mistake seriously, so I spank your bottom longer, to remind you this  _ is _ serious. So I’m going to ask you again, Mal, what is this spanking for?”

Mal realizes abruptly that this likely means they aren’t finished, and the tears that had tapered off start up again. “I was rude and aggressive at work. I’ve got to work with other people, even if I don’t like them,” he says softly.

“Good, kid,” Gil tells him, giving him a few more little spanks, barely more than pats. Mal whines with each one, whimpering piteously but no longer trying to resist the slaps. Gil decides it’s enough.

He’s about to finish with a last pair of stingers to the kid’s poor sit spots when he hears Malcolm say something. “What, sweetheart?” he asks, the pet name slipping out unconsciously.

“I’m suh-sorry, dad!” Mal cries. He sounds more like a sorry little boy than a grown up, competent profiler. The kid really is done in.

“Two more spanks on your sit spots and we’re done, kiddo, but they’re going to sting really bad,” Gil warns him softly. He’s responding to the much younger tone of Malcolm’s voice, not the strong, intelligent man he’d had a beer with earlier.

Malcolm puts his head down and cries at this news, and Gil rubs his back once, comforting, before raising his hand and bringing it down on poor Mal’s left sitspot in a sincere, hard punishment spank. He howls his head off, and Gil quickly completes the spanking with another equally stingy slap on the right.

He doesn’t wait for Mal to calm down, just rolls his kid over to cuddle him tight. Mal clings gratefully, obviously wrung out. Eventually he cries himself out, and Gil gently gets him up, passing him pajamas to get dressed, since he’s still naked from his shower.

Mal manages to get into pajama pants without too much fuss, though he tips over getting his second foot in, sitting down harder than he intended on his bed and whimpering miserably. He stalls out there, so Gil takes a tshirt and gently helps him into it, sliding it up his arms and over his head.

Mal smiles tiredly at him when Gil ruffles his hair back into place, the shirt having mussed it. “I’m not actually ten anymore, you know,” he muses.

“You complaining?” Gil asks, teasing but also serious. If he’s making the kid feel mocked instead of protected, he needs to stop.

“Not even a little. Just… noting that I’m an anomaly,” Mal tells him quietly.

“Kid, if my mom was still around, I’d call her all the time. You’re not  _ supposed _ to outgrow your parents completely,” Gil assures him. “Do you have any idea how many nights, first figuring out what you needed, that I wished I could just call my mom?”

“I’ve never been easy,” Mal agrees, and Gil fights back a sigh. That wasn’t what he meant.

“You’ve always been worth it. And no kid is ‘easy’. Taking care of another human being, keeping them safe, shaping them- that shouldn’t be easy. It’s too important,” Gil assures him.

“Ainsley was easy,” Mal argues.

Gil does sigh, then. “Ainsley  _ had it _ easier. Not as easy as another kid, but easier than you. She had literally half the time to be traumatized that you did, Mal.”

Mal frowns. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so…” He waves his hand absently.

“You’re tired. Let’s get you into bed,” Gil tells him, moving automatically to help with the restraints.

Once he has Mal settled, Gil turns off the light, returning to the side of the bed and sitting to pet Mal’s hair, not asking if he wants the company. The kid is in a weird place- calling him dad more, which is usually a good sign, but also worrying he’s a burden or immature, which is a bad one. So Gil won’t make him  _ decide _ if he wants comfort tonight, he’s just going to offer it.

Mal falls asleep quickly under Gil's comforting touch, and he presses a kiss to the kid's forehead before returning to his own room.

Mal wakes up yelling once in the night, but by the time Gil makes it into his room he's doing his breathing and centering himself. Mal unclips his restraints and assures Gil he's just going to do a few push ups to burn off some adrenaline and go back to sleep, so Gil leaves him to it, knowing Mal knows himself well enough to know what he needs. Some nightmares stick with him- luckily, this seems to have been one of the ones that only freaks out his body.

Indeed, when Gil wakes up at eight thirty Mal is still asleep. Gil fixes pancakes, making the batter but holding off on cooking them until he hears Mal stir. He's glad the kid got some rest.

By the time Malcolm appears, Gil has pancakes and fruit on the table. The kid goes straight for his meds, which he usually leaves in the kitchen, reading one of the small stack of inspirational cards he keeps with them.

"What's the wisdom of the day?" Gil asks.

"You get what you focus on," Mal tells him with a twisted smile.

"What are you focused on?" Gil asks.

"Among other things, I'm pretty sure you said you were going to spank me today," Mal says wryly as he sits at the table.

"That's going to happen whether you obsess or not, so why not focus on something a little more fun?" Gil suggests.

Mal nods, and after a companionable breakfast he tells Gil he wants to do some yoga and takes his mat to the small backyard, to take advantage of the nice day. Gil waves him off with a smile, calling Jessica. He has a plan- something better for the kid to focus on than punishment.

Jessica is genuinely surprised by his idea. Gil works on talking her around.

"C'mon, Jess, it'll be fun. The kid's had a rough week, he could use a laugh. We all could," Gil tells her.

"I thought he was still having a rough week? Ainsley said he wouldn't sit down at the park," Jessica says archly.

"He's not hurt, just sore," Gil assures her immediately.

"I know  _ that, _ Gil. I have never had a second's doubt about your treatment of my son. I'm merely wondering if he deserves a treat, if he's gotten himself into so much trouble," she challenges.

"He earned a hell of a spanking, with what he did wrong when he got fired. More than one, actually, and he's got the second one coming tonight. But there's a difference in busting his butt and breaking his spirit, Jess. He screwed up, yes. But we still love him. Enough to do something ridiculous because he'll enjoy it," Gil explains.

"I suppose," she allows, but Gil can hear the smile in her voice.

"You pick up Ainsley, I'll bring Mal, we meet at three?" Gil offers.

"And you all come out for dinner, afterwards," she stipulates, and he gives way gracefully.

Plan made, Gil smiles at Malcolm as he comes back inside. He briefly considers going ahead and spanking the kid, so it's not hanging over his head all day, but this is going to be a bad one, and he doesn't want Mal too sore to enjoy his surprise.

After Mal gets dressed, they head to the loft to visit Sunshine. Mal winds up talking him into just making sandwiches and hanging around the loft for lunch, Sunshine delighted by the extended play time and the berries they feed her, each of them petting her fondly when she rests near them.

Soon, it's time to go. "Sweet girl, I'm going to have to put you away- Mal and I have somewhere to be," Gil tells the parrot, who is examining his hair with great interest.

"We do?" Mal asks, surprised. He's stretched out on the couch, comfortable and relaxed. Gil is glad to see him so at ease here.

"We're meeting your mother and your sister in half an hour. Come on," Gil tells him, standing up and shoving Mal's feet off the couch to get him moving.

"I don't know that I like this. Whose idea was this little get together?" Mal asks warily.

"Mine," Gil tells him.

"Then I'm definitely nervous," Mal says, but he smiles, relaxing a little. Mal worries when his mom demands to see him- mostly because she worries about him so much and he doesn't know how to reassure her. Another benefit of today will be giving the two of them a chance to have fun casually, so Jess can see for herself how he's doing. She hasn’t seen him since they arrested Berkhead, after all.

Mal is curious, and he spends the drive peppering Gil with questions, trying to figure out where they're headed. The unassuming building is designed to give no clues, so Mal pesters him while they wait for Ainsley and Jessica.

At 2:59, Jessica precise as always, the girls arrive. They enter the building, and a man asks, "Whitley-Arroyo family?" Gil had reserved it under both names, not hyphenated, but he nods. They are a blended family, just not in the usual sense.

"Right this way," the attendant tells them, beginning his spiel.

Malcolm lights up as he realizes they're in a very well designed escape room, and Ainsley looks just as excited. Jessica grins at the children's joy, and Gil watches his family happily.

There are three rounds of puzzle to get out. Jessica and Gil hang back, letting the kids play. Ainsley beats Mal to the first solution, though he figures out the second one. They're down to their last two minutes and both stumped by the third one when Jessica realizes the answer, whooping and jumping into Gil's arms to hug him when it's right.

Gil grins, delighted. They're all smiling hard when they take their "We beat the clock!" photo, and Gil buys four copies without hesitation.

"I'm getting that framed," Jessica announces immediately. Ainsley smiles- she'll probably scan hers and post it online, but Gil wanted her to have a hard copy. Mal has boxes of photos in his office at the loft, Gil knows, and he's sure this one will join the "good memories" box Mal pulls out when he needs positive anchors. Gil will be adding his own to the photo-book style frame he keeps on his desk. He's going to need a bigger one, with Mal close by for more regular 'family' outings.

"Now, dinner!" Jessica announces as they all walk outside.

Mal looks at Gil worriedly. "We've got nowhere to be, kid," Gil assures him.

Jessica takes them for Italian, somewhere fancy and delicious that doesn't object to Mal's casual henley or Gil's sweater. The girls are elegant as always, even dressed casually.

They order their food, and Jessica begins good naturedly grilling everyone about what they've been working on.

Mal answers her questions skillfully, responding honestly but not giving her enough detail to scare her. He's a little short with her, and seems tense, so Gil nudges his foot under the table. Mal needles him as he answers Jessica's questions too, and Gil wonders what's eating his kid.

Next Mal complains about the menu, making Jessica frown and offer to find somewhere else, but he insists he wouldn't want to offend her 'refined palate'. Gil wonders if the kid is feeling nauseous, and acting out in the hopes of skipping dinner.

Then, Mal chastises their waiter for not filling their water glasses fast enough. It's totally unlike him, and Gil looks up sharply. Mal won't meet his eyes, but he's visibly on edge.

But the last straw is when a friendly bit of sibling banter devolves into Mal telling Ains that, "Journalists are the blood sucking leeches of the investigative world, profiting off of victims while the rest of us try to get them justice."

Ainsley gasps, obviously hurt, and Gil has had enough. He stands, setting his napkin on the table. "Malcolm, a word?" he asks, voice dangerously soft. He's hoping not to cause a scene, but he's not going to let Mal keep taking whatever is wrong with him out on everyone else. Jessica puts a light hand on his wrist, and he shoots her a reassuring smile- he’s going to get their kid sorted, but he won’t be too hard on him.

Malcolm looks startled, but quickly composes himself, pushing in his chair and letting Gil steer him to the bathrooms with a firm hand on his back.

Luckily, the place has single occupancy bathrooms and no attendant. Gil steers Malcolm into one and looks him over, confusion warring with disappointment on his face.

"Malcolm,  _ why _ are you acting like a moody teenager?" Gil asks, honestly baffled.

The kid rounds on him, furious. "What did you just call me?"

"I asked why you're acting like a teenager. I didn't  _ call _ you anything. Now calm down," Gil orders firmly.

"This is stupid. I hate this place," Mal announces.

"Well, that's no excuse to abuse everyone and embarrass your family. Now come here," Gil instructs, putting his left foot up on the toilet seat.

Mal had apparently not realized where this was going. "No!!" he yelps, cutting himself off when he realizes how loud he’s being, but still shaking his head in horrified denial. He takes a step back.

"Mal, kid, is earning yourself extras really going to help right now?" he asks.

Malcolm freezes, looking at him in abject horror. "You can't spank me in a  _ restaurant bathroom. _ You- you can't!"

"Well, the other traditional option is the back seat of the car, and I drive a coupe," Gil jokes. But he quickly sees that Mal is too worked up to be teased into calming down. Mal is  _ great _ in an actual crisis, but he likes predictability in the day to day. Gil has surprised him, and now he needs to calm him down.

"Kid, it's just a warning. Few smacks, your bottom stings a little, and you behave when we go back in and it's all over," Gil reassures him. "I've pulled you aside for a warning in public before," he reminds the kid, guessing that's what has him upset.

"Not since I  _ left for college," _ Mal hisses, still horrified.

"Well, do you think you didn't earn it?" Gil asks calmly.

Mal really considers this, shifting uncomfortably. "Just a few smacks?" he checks.

"Eight, Mal, that's all. You can handle eight spanks," Gil assures him. He picks the number as enough to sting through the kid's pants, but nowhere near even the warm up of a real punishment.

“Not bare, Gil, please?” the kid begs. “I’ll take double just please-”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Gil assures him. “You don’t need bare and you don’t need more. Just a little spanking to help you let go of that sulk and settle down before you really get yourself in trouble,” he explains gently.

Mal nods, still nervous. He comes obediently to his dad’s side and Gil puts his foot back on the toilet seat and gently tugs his kid over. “Good job,” he tells Mal. “Now I’m going to spank you, and then you’re going to come back into the dining area and sit with your mother and sister, who love you very much, and be your usual charming self instead of picking at everyone trying to start a fight.”

“Yes, sir,” Mal whispers, and Gil gives him his first spank. He has been an absolutely unholy terror, so Gil gives him all eight spanks low across both cheeks, where he’ll feel them when he sits back down. Mal doesn’t make a sound, and as soon as the last spank lands, Gil has him up and hugs him.

Mal clings a little, but he seems okay. “Sorry, dad,” he says.

That’s… unexpected. Usually, when he’s keyed up is exactly when Mal doesn’t want to even  _ think _ that word. It’s not the first time this weekend he’s been surprised to hear it- he wonders where it’s coming from and resolves to ask Mal later, when he’s not upset. “You’re forgiven, kid,” Gil assures him softly. “Ready to go face the family?” he asks after a moment.

Mal winces. “Protect me from mom?” he requests. “I was a jerk.”

“You just look sad and she’ll be so mad at me for upsetting you she’ll forget to be mad at you,” Gil advises.

The girls welcome them back to the table with concerned looks, their entrees having arrived while they were gone. It took longer to reassure Mal than it did to spank him, but the girls don’t know what exactly happened, so Jessica looks her son over worriedly while Ainsley pins Gil with a dangerous look. Little sister is in mama bear mode.

Mal smiles in awkward acknowledgement as he takes his seat- sitting without hesitation, which seems to reassure Ainsley. “Sorry, guys,” he tells them softly, looking down at his plate and avoiding everyone’s eyes. “I- just… sorry.”

Jessica reaches over to squeeze his hand. “Quite alright, Sunshine,” she tells him gently.

Ainsley leans forward, scanning him with an investigative reporter’s eye for detail. “You okay?” she asks softly.

Mal risks a glance up to shoot her a reassuring smile. “Dad sorted me out,” he tells her quietly. Gil is shocked to hear the name again so soon- and in front of Jessica, no less.

Jessica swallows a gasp. She’s never quite sure how to react to Mal calling him ‘dad’- she’s aware that the kid does it, but it always catches her a little off guard. Part of that is old money sensibility, Gil thinks- in Jess’ world, Malcolm is a Whitley whether he likes it or not and should honor that, which means keeping his father’s name and acknowledging his role in his birth. Just like Jessica never went back to Milton.

Now, though, Jessica only pats Mal’s hand. “Let’s eat, before your food gets cold,” she tells him kindly, waiting until he looks up and gives her an awkward smile before pulling back to pick up her fork.

Gil follows her example, then Ainsley, and finally Malcolm joins in. They eat and talk companionably for the rest of the meal, Malcolm settled enough by the quick warning to unwind and joke with his sister as they tease Gil. Jessica backs him up, and they’re all laughing when the meal ends.

Gil has learned not to balk when Jessica invites him out with the family and insists on getting his meal- he suggested the escape room, he paid. She suggested dinner, she pays. So he simply smiles his thanks.

Back on his best manners, Malcolm helps his mother into her coat, and they walk the girls out to the waiting car. Malcolm kisses his mother’s cheek and hugs Ainsley tight, and Gil does the same, starting with Ainsley.

“Don’t be too hard on him… dad,” Jess whispers into his ear as she pulls back, smiling knowingly.

“I’ll take good care of our kid,” Gil assures her quietly as he opens her door. Jessica and Ainsley get into the car and Gil closes the door behind them, tapping the roof of the car to let Adolpho know he’s good to go.

Gil turns to look at Malcolm. The kid has his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets and he’s hunching his shoulders just a little- it’s not cold, so Gil knows it’s stress. “C’mon, kid, let’s get you home,” he says, wrapping an arm around the back of Mal’s neck and pulling him close as they walk toward the valet stand.

Mal is quiet on the car ride home, until they’re almost there. Then he says, “Gil?” softly, unsure.

“Yeah, kid?” Gil answers gently.

“Was it okay, that I called you dad in front of mom?” Mal asks.

“Of course, Mal. You can always call me dad or Gil, whichever feels right in the moment. Your mom doesn’t mind either. It surprises her sometimes, but she doesn’t mind,” Gil assures him.

“Today was nice. It’s been a while since we did something as a family, except holidays,” Mal muses. “I didn’t want to have dinner, but I’m glad we did.”

“I noticed that. Any idea why?” Gil asks.

Mal grimaces, but answers honestly. “Because you’re going to spank me when we get home, and it’ll only be a couple of hours before we go to bed, and you’ll spank me  _ again,” _ he explains miserably. “If we had just gone home for dinner, there’d have been more time between rounds,” he adds.

Gil grimaces sympathetically. “I thought about suggesting we get it out of the way this morning, but I didn’t want you too sore to have fun today,” he admits. They’re home, and he pulls in and parks, looking over in time to see the way Mal winces, obviously understanding just how bad this spanking is going to be.

"C'mon, kid, let's get this over with," Gil tells him gently, wrapping an arm around his kid and leading him into the house. Mal goes willingly, but he's clearly nervous as Gil guides him straight to his room, sitting down on the bed and keeping Mal in front of him.

"We're dealing with two big things today, kid. First, skipping meds and going off your routines when you’re stressed is never okay. It’s  _ dangerous, _ Mal. That’s always a spankable offense, on its own. And then you basically threw a tantrum when you got fired. It’s okay to be hurt, and angry. They didn’t handle things fairly. It’s  _ not _ okay to yell at people and accidentally threaten them because you’re taking out your feelings on them,” Gil scolds.

“Yes, sir,” Malcolm says quietly.

“Either of those things is serious enough to earn its own punishment,” Gil tells him, forcing himself to show none of the reluctance he’s feeling. This plan is going to be hard on Mal, but it’s better than a third night of spankings. “Go get the spoon and my belt,” he instructs.

“What? No, Gil!” Mal pleads. “Not both!”

“Endangering your health gets you a dose of the belt. No exceptions. The tantrum at the FBI was more ‘teenage boy acting out’ than grown up decision- you deserve a paddling for that one. I don’t want to give you two more spankings, kid. So I’m going to give you the part of your spanking that would normally come before the belt with the spoon instead. I think that’s better than a third punishment,” he explains.

Malcolm already has tears in his eyes. “Gil…” he pleads.

“Would you rather split it? We deal with skipping your meds and all your routines- and not calling when you needed help, I haven’t forgotten that part- tonight, and I paddle you for your tantrum tomorrow?” Gil offers, willing to split it up if it’s easier on the kid.

“That sounds awful too,” Malcolm admits.

“One will hurt more  _ tonight. _ The other will hurt longer,” Gil points out. “You’re going to be sitting reluctantly for a day or two either way, kiddo. Which is less scary? All at once or spread out?”

Mal takes a deep breath. “I’ve been dreading tonight all day. I’d rather be done,” he decides.

“Good, kid. Now, go get me the spoon and my belt,” Gil tells him, gentle but firm. They  _ are _ moving forward with this. Mal gulps but does as he’s told, and Gil doesn’t comment when it takes him longer than it should to retrieve the implements.

Mal hands the belt and the spoon over, obviously trying not to cry. He's a shaky mess, and he comes to stand at Gil's side, reluctantly waiting.

"Pants down, kid," Gil prompts when Malcolm doesn't do anything but shift from foot to foot.

"Gil…" Mal whispers. He's scared. He's scared because this is different, because this is  _ severe, _ past what Gil usually gives him. Gil had intended to warm the kid up with the spoon, but seeing how upset he is, he's going to stick to how they usually start out for the warm up and give it to him with his hand.

"You need help?" Gil asks softly. Malcolm bites his lip and nods. Gil tugs him by a belt loop to stand between his legs, opening the kid's belt and unfastening his pants. The weight of the belt pulls them down, and Gil gives them a little tug to help them fall. He puts a gentle hand on Mal's hip, telling him, "Come on, kid, let's get this over with. You're going to be okay."

Mal lets himself be tugged into place, grabbing a pillow to bury his face in as his first sob breaks free. Gil is beginning to wonder if the emotional toll of this spanking isn't going to be too high. He's going to be very careful here.

So he takes a moment to gently rub the small of Mal's back, settling him, before he asks, "What's this spanking for, kid?"

"I skipped my meds, didn't do any of my post nightmare routines, didn't do any of the things I know to do when I'm upset. Then I was so keyed up I threw a tantrum in the FBI building and proved them right. And I knew I needed you, especially then, and I still didn't call," Malcolm confesses.

"You  _ didn't _ prove their point. You gave them more ammunition for a faulty argument, but you are not too unstable to be a profiler, Mal. Let's get that perfectly clear," Gil tells him.

"Yes, sir," Mal tells him.

"Alright, kid. The warm up's the same as always, don't worry," he reassures his kid before raising his hand and cracking it down on the vulnerable bottom over his knee.

Mal was crying before they started, so Gil isn't getting a good emotional gauge on how much warmup the kid needs. He's not just warming up his bottom, he's easing them into a severe punishment. So he gives Mal a couple of minutes of steady spanks, until his feet are twitching a little with every spank.

"Lift up," he prompts, tapping Mal's hip gently.

"Noooo," Malcolm whines, pressing down with his hips to make it harder for Gil to get them off. He's scared of what comes next, Gil knows. Still, Gil also knows he needs to be consistent, right now. The more different things are, the more it will freak Malcolm out. Extras for arguing may feel horribly mean, under the circumstances, but it’s what Mal expects.

"You don't get to tell me no," he scolds, giving Mal's right thigh a spank. Mal whines sadly, and Gil settles in to spank the backs of the kid's legs. Mindful that it's highly unlikely this is the only bit of rebellion he'll get during this spanking, Gil works from the very top of Mal's thighs to a third of the way down to his knees.

Mal hates it, whining and twisting, but makes no move to give in. "You ready to get those underwear down and move this back to your bottom?" he asks after at least a minute of punishment. He's not going easy on the sensitive skin, and Mal's thighs are a brilliant pink headed toward red.

Gil is beginning to worry. Extras are supposed to be worse, but Mal is so afraid of skipping to the spoon when he's bared that he'd rather have his thighs slapped. He's not sure how to resolve the stalemate until Mal does something he's never done before.

A particularly hard spank makes Mal bend his knee, and Gil gently pushes his leg back down so his foot isn't blocking the target area. That gives the kid an idea, and he abruptly bends both knees up, to block Gil's swing.

This- not this exactly, but Mal's kicking getting in the way- is why Gil has the kid between his legs. He pulls Mal forward so the backs of his reddened thighs are centered over his left knee, bending the kid's feet back down and trapping his legs between Gil's. Then, he picks up the spoon.

"You just earned yourself quite a few more extras, and if you're willing to do that while I spank your legs, then my hand isn't having enough of an effect," Gil scolds, bringing the spoon down sharply.

Mal  _ howls, _ obviously surprised. He's had the spoon on the backs of his legs before, but Gil usually goes back to his hand for extras, so it's rare. Now, he's peppering the sensitive skin of Mal's legs with light blows of the small, makeshift paddle.

"Ahhh, no, Gil, please!" Malcolm cries. "I'll stay still, I'll take down my underwear, no more, please!" he begs frantically. "Ah! Ohhhh!! Please no more!"

Gil keeps spanking as he considers this offer. "A dozen more, I think," he says, pausing. "Then we'll try getting your underwear down again."

"Okay, okay, yes, please! I'll be so good, dad! I'll be soooo good!" Mal accepts readily, aware that this is the best offer he's likely to get.

Gil focuses the dozen on the tops of Mal's thighs, making sure the sensitive skin there gets twelve deliberate, stinging whacks. Mal cries piteously, but Gil knows this is kinder than going easy and risking having to repeat the lesson in a few minutes.

Indeed, as soon as he pauses after the last spank, Mal actually startles him by shooting awkwardly partially upright, pulling down his own underwear before flopping back into place.

"Good, Malcolm, good job," Gil reassures him gently, patting his back. "Let's get you shifted back a little, so I can spank your bottom instead of your legs," he says, moving Mal.

As he adjusts him, he moves the kid so he's lying fully across the bed. He thinks Mal has learned his lesson about using his feet to block, and he hopes it will help Mal to be able to kick safely.

"I'm using the spoon now because you are too grown up and too smart to be throwing tantrums, Malcolm Charles," Gil scolds firmly, bringing the spoon down for his first spank.

"Sorry! Ahhh! Sorry, dad!" Mal assures him. Gil wonders if the switch to 'dad' is just because the kid is sore and scared about this spanking, or if something is up. It's not the first time he's noticed Mal using it more, lately.

Gil paddles Malcolm long and hard. When the kid's bottom is about as red as he can go, Gil lightens the spanks, landing fast little stingers all over Mal's backside instead of measured, heavy spanks.

"Sorry!! Please no more, m'sorry, dad! Sorryyyyyy!" Mal cries, the quick spanks overwhelming him much faster than the heavy ones. The poor kid is kicking and twisting, absolutely overwrought. Gil figures his goal of making this a spanking the kid will never forget has been met. He gives Mal a few more little pops with the spoon, evening out his color, then puts it aside.

"Breathe for me, kid, we're almost done. Just have to get through the belt and we're finished," Gil reassures him, rubbing his back.

"No, no, oh no! Please no, dad, I can't, please!" Mal begs, desperately.

"Mal, honey, you've got to calm down," Gil tells him. The kid is crying hard and borderline panicking. He'd underestimated how much this spanking would scare Mal- probably because he's had a few days to dread it, since the case ended. 

"I can't, dad, I really can't," Mal gasps, panicky.

Gil has to stop this, or Mal is going to have a full blown panic attack. He hauls the kid up and into his arms, putting one of Mal's hands on his chest so he can follow his dad’s breathing.

"Calm down, kid. Take a deep breath for me, come on, you can do it. Just breathe. I've got you, Mal. I'm right here and you're safe," Gil assures him, trying to keep his own desperation out of his voice.

Clinging to him, Mal calms down relatively quickly. He's embarrassed as he does, burying his face in Gil's shoulder. "Sorry," he whispers awkwardly.

"No, kid, I'm sorry. We were  _ just _ talking about how routines and predictability make things easier, and I changed things up on you, here. You were already nervous, it's no wonder you got scared," Gil reassures him.

"I shouldn't have. I  _ know _ I'm safe with you, Dad. This was stupid." Gil is suddenly pretty sure he knows why Mal is calling him 'dad' so much lately. He's  _ anchoring _ himself, reminding himself that Gil will keep him safe. He's reclaiming the title, and using it to shore up his sense of security. He’s as sad that Mal feels shaken enough to need a new anchor-point as he is proud of the kid for figuring out a way to create one. Calling Gil dad is only half about reminding himself who his dad is- the other half is all about who it  _ isn’t. _

"Hey, no," Gil kisses the top of the kid's head. "We both know that fear isn't always rational, and panic rarely has anything to do with what's actually going on. I'm not offended, kid."

Mal shudders. "Can we just get it over with?" he asks. He's kneeling pressed against Gil's side, arms wrapped around his dad's neck, and he's obviously still clingy and breathing a little shakily.

Gil is surprised by the request. He hadn't considered finishing the spanking tonight, all things considered. He hadn't decided if he was going to let it go or delay the rest, but he definitely hadn't planned to continue.

But he really looks at his kid, and considers what the spanking is for. Mal can handle a short strapping. And he does better when Gil shows he believes he can handle difficult things, so he'll probably cope better if they just get it over with.

Gil kisses his head again. "You've got a dozen with the belt left. Because when you're upset is when you need to stick with the plan  _ the most _ . You and Gabrielle spent weeks devising your routines for a reason, and skipping meds and ignoring them is  _ not safe," _ he scolds gently.

"I deserve it," Mal says wryly. "I deserve worse, but you're not giving me more than I can handle," he admits.

"I think it'll be plenty to make sure you learn your lesson," Gil tells him serenely. "Ready?"

Mal nods, taking a deep, steadying breath and letting Gil help him back into place. He immediately reaches down to cling to his dad's leg, and Gil rubs his back softly before picking up the belt. The kid isn't crying anymore, but Gil doesn't think it's far off 

"You don't skip your meds." Two licks drive that point home and Mal cries out as they land. "You have routines for a reason." Two more. "Your coping strategies  _ cannot help _ if you  _ don't use them." _ Another two sharp licks with the belt, and Mal is just crying now, not crying out with each spank.

"You know better." Another pair. "You do a very dangerous job, and you need to be at your best." Another two licks. Almost done. "I'm trusting you to keep yourself  _ safe," _ he says as he finishes, giving Mal the last two licks low down, where they'll really burn. Mal gasps, tensing hard before going limp, all at once.

Gil tosses the belt aside, rubbing Mal's back and doing his best to comfort him. "You did it, kid, you did great, we're done and you were so brave," he assures Mal softly.

"Dad. Dad, I need… Dad!" Mal pleads quietly, and Gil just fixes his underwear and rolls the kid over, shifting his legs so Mal's sorest parts dip between them and holding his kid in his arms. He doesn't give a damn right now that Mal is too old to be in his lap. And given the way Mal clings and buries his face in Gil's chest, he's thinking the kid doesn't, either.

Gil holds Mal for a long time. The kid slowly finishes crying, but he just tightens his grip and hangs on, so Gil doesn’t try to move him. Eventually, Mal says, “Gil? I’m really sorry.”

“I know, kid.” Gil kisses his head. “You’re forgiven, I promise.” He rubs the hair at the back of Mal’s head, soothing him.

“That was really bad,” Mal says after a long moment.

“It was, kid. I know,” Gil tells him softly. “I hate making you cry like that,” he admits, honestly a little shaken by the punishment himself.

“I’m okay, Gil. You’ve got me and I’m okay,” Mal tells him, a reversal of their usual procedure.

“Yeah,” Gil agrees, pulling the kid close and burying his face in Mal’s hair for a long moment. Eventually, Mal shifts, and Gil releases his kid so he can get up.

Mal immediately abandons the idea of pulling up his pants, tossing them into his closet and pulling out an old, worn pair of pajamas instead. He winces as he pulls them on, obviously hurting.

Gil quite suddenly makes a decision. “Come on,” he says, leading the way toward the kitchen. He doubles back, retrieving the belt and the spoon. He doesn’t want Mal seeing them when they return to his room for his bedtime spanking and getting upset again. He tosses his belt through his open bedroom door to deal with later and brings the spoon with him into the kitchen, hanging it back up.

Mal follows him companionably, asking, “What are we doing?”

“Flan,” Gil decides. “Jackie would’ve thought this night needed lemon flan.”

It’s Mal’s best comfort food, because it reminds him of Jackie, and of being cared for and safe. Gil’s hoping it’ll make him feel secure, now.

So far so good. Mal’s face immediately lights up. “And you say you don’t spoil me,” he laughs.

“You’re worth it, kid,” Gil tells him. Mal starts pulling ingredients out of the fridge while Gil looks for the flan pan. It hasn’t been used in years- only once since Jackie got too sick to cook, when Mal was home and made flan for  _ her. _ He finds the round pan they cook it in fairly easily, but it takes him a few more minutes to find the larger pan for the water bath.

By the time he finds it, Mal has the ingredients out. “Waiting on me to catch up?” Gil teases.

“Well,  _ I’m _ ready,” Mal assures him, smiling.

“Preheat the oven, smart aleck,” Gil tells him. Mal does, and begins mixing the custard, leaving Gil to tackle the caramel. He thinks he’s got it, until he checks on it a moment after taking it off the burner and it’s black.

“Mal?” he calls worriedly. Malcolm looks over his shoulder.

“You’ve got to take it off the heat as soon as it’s amber. It keeps cooking. That’s ruined,” Mal tells him, laughing.

“I know how to make caramel! Or, I thought I did,” Gil says, surprised. He’s sure he’s done this before, but it’s been a long time. Usually, Jackie made the caramel and had one of her boys put together the custard, Mal if he was home and Gil if he wasn’t.

“We’ll try it again. Throw what you can in the trash, and we’ll fill the pan with hot water and melt the rest out,” Mal suggests. “That’s what Jackie did when  _ I _ was learning to make caramel.” He gets out another pot as he speaks, pouring the ingredients in and setting it on the burner almost absently as he talks. It strikes Gil again how at home Mal is, in his kitchen. If Jackie were here, this moment would be perfect- but she’s always with them, in the way Mal narrates as he stirs the caramel, smiling as he throws in memories of Jackie teaching him to make it himself.

Mal’s batch turns out better, and when he says it’s almost ready to come off of the heat, Gil tosses the pan in the oven to warm up. They coat it with no further problems, then Mal reaches to move it closer to the custard bowl.

“Malcolm Charles!” Gil yelps, pulling him back.

Mal  _ freezes. _ “Sorry, sorry, what’d I do?” he asks, hands subconsciously shielding his bottom. Gil instantly feels like a heel for scaring him- usually, any situation that leads to his middle name being yelled  _ is _ worth at least a smack, but Gil has no intention of swatting him.

“I warmed the pan in the oven,” he reminds Mal.

“Oh. Oops?” Mal says warily.

“You’re fine. That was a ‘danger!’ Malcolm Charles, not a ‘don’t you dare!’ Malcolm Charles,” Gil assures him. “You weren’t going to grab a hot pan on purpose.”

“Jackie somehow had the magic ability to get the caramel even without heating the pan, so I forgot we had,” Mal admits.

“It’s okay, kid. Accidents happen, dads get overprotective. We’re all fine. Though I think you’d better let me do the water bath and take it out,” Gil decides.

Mal looks offended, so Gil assures him, “I know you  _ can. _ But we just saw how jumpy I am. The pan’s been out of the oven for a few minutes- it’s probably not even that hot anymore. I’m not doubting you can handle making the flan, I’m  _ asking _ you to let me so I don’t worry.”

Mal looks at him critically for a long moment, then nods. “Okay,” he says softly, then picks up the custard and carries it over to the pan, pouring it in. He picks up the grater to zest the lemon, then looks askance at Gil. He’s not  _ that _ paranoid today, so he snorts.

“Go ahead.” Gil feels faintly ridiculous when Mal finishes grating the lemon and steps back, well away from the oven, but he takes over, putting the pan on the oven rack, putting the flan pan inside, and filling it from a pitcher of water Mal hands him.

“Warm water?” he asks, surprised.

“Cooks faster, less of a shock,” Mal explains. “Theoretically, cold water in a hot oven could burst a glass pan before it heats up.”

Gil nods, finishing setting up the water bath and closing the oven. Mal sets a timer, then leans back against the counter. Gil opens the fridge, rooting around for a beer. He tips the unopened bottle towards Mal, offering. The kid is careful what he drinks, with his meds, but he can have one drink without it becoming an issue, and Gil is trying to show that he  _ knows _ Mal is an adult.

Mal makes a face. “Do we have wine?” he asks, going to check the bottom of the pantry where wine bottles usually live. He pulls out a chardonnay Gil figures the kid probably brought over at some point, putting it in the freezer to chill.

“I forgot,  _ you hate beer,” _ he teases with a laugh.

“I don’t hate beer, I hate  _ your _ beer. Because you drink terrible beer,” Mal teases back.

“It’s been around what, a hundred years? Can’t be that bad,” Gil laughs, opening his bottle.

“Oh, trust me, it is. It’s just that you and a significant portion of the population don’t consider  _ taste _ when selecting your alcoholic beverages,” Malcolm insists.

“I’ll show you taste!” Gil puts the kid in a playful headlock, mussing his hair.

“I give, I give!” Mal backs up when he releases him, putting the kitchen island between them. “And you don’t get to talk about  _ taste _ with an Old Milwaulkie in your hand!” He dissolves into laughter, pleased with himself for getting the last word in the old argument, and Gil flicks the bottle cap at him, grinning.

“That’s what I’ve got you for, city boy,” he says with a grin. “To tell me what’s cool.”

“Cool and tasteful are two totally different things. And you’ve got me to tell you who’s homicidal, anyway,” Malcolm laughs.

“God, you sounded like your mother for a minute, there,” Gil chuckles. “She insists I ‘at least’ drink Stella. We compromise on Heineken sometimes,” he admits.

“Are you getting drinks with my mother a lot, lately?” Malcolm asks, interested.

“She, Ains, and I have dinner at least once a month. Sometimes we’ll grab a bite if we’re both at loose ends.” Malcolm looks thoughtful. “Kid, you weren’t here. Not one of us would ever leave you out.”

“I know! I know. I just… You and mom… you co-parent so well, sometimes it’s weird to remember you have a relationship that isn’t just about me,” Mal admits.

“Even when it’s not about you… it’s kind of always about you,” Gil confesses. “We’d never have become friends if we didn’t both love you so much. We’re too different. We found common ground caring about you.”

“I’m glad you’ve got each other,” Mal says, looking genuinely delighted. “Do I need to ask what your intentions are, toward my mother?”

He’s timed it just right, and Gil sprays beer across the kitchen. “You did that on purpose,” he accuses.

“Maybe.” Mal smiles impishly. “But you haven’t answered my question.”

“My intentions are…” Gil sets down his beer, pretending to really consider the question as he walks around the kitchen island, “to ask her about her return policy on brats!” He grabs Mal as he says it, tickling the kid, who laughs.

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry! You can date my mom if you want to!” Mal tells him, laughing hard.

“Keep it up, and we won’t invite you to the wedding,” Gil teases, letting the kid go.

“Then who’ll be your best man?” Mal asks, grinning.

They’re playing, but Gil still needs to answer that one carefully. Obviously, if he ever remarries Mal will stand up for him, but he can’t just throw out an answer that’ll make Mal feel like he’s got competition- either with his sister or his teammates. “Ken,” he decides. The choice is ridiculous enough not to risk upsetting the kid if he’s feeling insecure.

Mal’s eyes go wide. “Ken? Last night, pool shark pick pocket Ken?” he asks.

“He seemed like a stand up guy! And anybody who knows me better will tell me I must’ve lost it, marrying into your crazy family,” Gil jokes.

“Gil,” Malcolm says with faux seriousness, “you  _ are _ my crazy family.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Gil tells him.

Mal shakes his head as he goes to check on his wine, pouring himself a glass and putting the bottle in the fridge. They finish their drinks, chatting amiably, while they wait for the flan to finish. When the timer goes off, Mal shuts it off, reaching for an oven mitt before catching himself and deliberately stepping back. He doesn’t complain or comment, just passes the oven mitt to Gil.

Gil is grateful. Mal has been making flan since he was a preteen, but he’d still be worried about the kid spilling the water bath on himself. He’s really overprotective tonight, after such a hard spanking. He always is, after seeing the kid really upset. He’s glad Mal is willing to be patient with him.

They leave the flan to cool and Mal suggests they watch the news, even though Ainsley probably won’t be on- she wouldn’t have spent the day with them if she were chasing a story, they know. The news is fairly dull- anything local exciting enough to interest either of them, Gil usually knows because he’s at the crime scene before it hits the news. Even with the weekend off while they work through the paperwork, he’d have heard something if anything exciting had happened.

When the flan has cooled, Gil hands it off to Mal to flip. “I always break it,” he explains.

“I do too!” Mal says nervously, but he manages to get it out only slightly awkwardly. They each take a piece and settle back on the couch, in deference to how sore Gil knows Mal still is.

Mal finds a documentary about catapults, of all things, and they settle in to watch it. Once they’ve finished their flan, Mal slowly leans more of his weight against Gil until his dad puts an arm around him, tugging him close. Gil finds himself unexpectedly fascinated by the historical documentary, which includes modern men trying to build one using ancient methods, and they’re both focused on the screen until it ends.

Mal yawns when he sits up to shut off the TV. “Time for bed?” he asks nervously.

“I’m afraid so, kid,” Gil tells him, sitting up. He doesn’t miss how, even sitting on his hip, Mal had difficulty getting comfortable on the soft couch. He absolutely roasted the kid, and the thought of giving him another round on top is daunting. He can only imagine how much Mal is dreading it.

Mal hesitates once he’s up, waiting for Gil, so he wraps an arm around the kid and guides him down the hall. “Brush your teeth and get ready for bed,” he says, giving him a little push toward the bathroom.

“Time limit?” Mal asks.

“Do you need one? Delaying the inevitable isn’t going to make anything better,” Gil tells him.

“I’ll be good,” Mal promises with a grimace.

Gil gets ready for bed himself, figuring it’s probably 60/40 whether he’ll make it to bed tonight or fall asleep with Mal. He’s got a plan he hopes is a decent one, to get them through this and deliver on his promise of bedtime spankings. He just hopes Mal doesn't go sulky or rebellious and force his hand.

Gil knocks on the kid's door, and Mal calls, "Come in." He's standing in the middle of the room, looking anxious.

Gil pulls him close, resting their foreheads together and automatically bringing one of Mal's hands to his chest. "Deep breath. You're okay. You know I won't give you more than you can handle," he assures his kid.

"Gil, the trick with me mirroring your breathing only works when you're not as anxious as I am," Mal tells him wryly.

"You've got a point, kid. Let's get this over with," he says, taking a seat. Mal comes straight to him, standing between Gil's legs. He's nervous but trusting, though he looks teary already.

"Good, kid," Gil tells him, putting a gentle hand on Mal's hip. "I'm proud of you for not kicking up a fuss," he says softly. "You're doing great."

Mal smiles tremulously. He  _ is _ being very brave, and Gil knows that's easier with support. He gently pulls down the kid's pajamas, turning him over his knee. Mal goes without complaint, though his breathing is deliberate enough Gil knows he's working hard at staying calm.

Gil preemptively traps Mal's legs between his own. "Give me your hand, kiddo," he says softly. Mal reaches back, and Gil takes his hand, pressing it against the kid's hip so he's got his forearm across Mal's back. The kid can't move- Gil is  _ not _ risking Mal earning anything extra, tonight.

"This spanking is to help you remember you need to play nice with others, Mal. Aside from how you lighting into them makes people feel, you're more effective with backup," Gil tells him softly, giving him a spank.

Mal hisses, his muscles locking, before deliberately relaxing. Gil gives him the warm up about as hard as he usually would, knowing it'll reawaken the fire that’s barely begun to die down. He gives the kid six- just enough to cover his whole, well spanked bottom, then pulls his underwear down, shifting the kid to get them down without asking him to help.

"Oh, no," Mal breathes softly, but he isn't fighting, or trying to talk Gil out of it. Gil is absurdly proud of him for that.

His strategy is simple- Mal is already  _ very _ well spanked. Gil doesn't need to make him sorer, he just needs to remind Mal how sore he is, and the kid will feel thoroughly punished.

The warm up was sharp enough to build the sting back up, and the aching burn hadn't had time to dissipate much. Now, Gil cups his hand a little, to make the noise louder, and lands the lightest spanks possible across Mal's tender cheeks.

The kid  _ thinks _ he's being walloped. But if Gil is playing this right, by the time he's done crying he won't be in any more pain than he'd be in if Gil had put him in the corner on a hard kitchen chair for ten minutes.

It's consistency, which Mal needs desperately right now, and mercy, which the kid has never known how to handle. And it's a lesson they both really needed tonight, going into next week and the possibility of Mal's next case with Gil's team.

Mal needs to pull his head in, dealing with the cops. He needs to stop antagonizing people and he needs to know Gil won't give him a pass just because he loves him. The fact that he's getting this bedtime spanking at all, as sore as he is, is going to imprint that lesson deep.

And Gil needs to learn to be very, very careful what he threatens, and what he promises. Because Mal is going to stack mistakes on top of each other, just like he does brilliant ideas. Working together, Gil is going to have a front row seat unlike he's ever had before, and he's going to have to adjust his responses accordingly- the kid needs a tight leash while he adjusts to NYPD, but Gil has to be careful it doesn't turn into a metaphoric choke collar.

He's given the kid a couple of dozen little spanks, and Mal is crying hard. Gil decides it's enough. He looks over the kid's bottom critically, but he's not a shade redder than he was when they started this. Gil stops spanking, rubbing Mal's back and waiting for him to calm down.

Slowly, Mal does, and when the sobs taper off into shaky breaths, Gil helps the kid fix his pants and tugs him up to stand, rising alongside him to hold him tight.

"You okay?" he asks, stroking Mal's hair.

"Mmhmm," Mal tells him quietly. "Hurts," he admits.

"I know, kid," Gil says, brushing a kiss across his head. "What do you say we get you to bed, and I bet it'll feel better in the morning?"

Mal complies quietly, staying close to Gil and deliberately sliding to leave room beside him in the bed as Gil gets him fixed in his cuffs, on his stomach again. Gil passes the kid his mouth guard and takes the invitation, turning off the light and lying down on the other side of the bed. His alarm is set on his phone, on the bedside table. He knows he's not going to get up and head back to his room, tonight.

Indeed, as he opens his arms for Mal and the kid falls gratefully into them, snuggling down into his chest and frowning when the cuffs catch on Gil's shoulder, Gil is just glad for the chance to hold his son. Mal clings, obviously done in, and Gil buries his face in the kid's hair and rubs his back, soothing them both to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! Thank you so much for reading this story, and sticking with me through my first episode fic. There's definitely more of this series coming- I've got the flashback I've eluded to that touches on, among other things, how JT met Mal years ago, coming along, and I can't wait to get started on Annihilator. Please consider leaving a comment and letting me know what you liked, what you didn't, and anything you'd like to see! I'm writing this fic because it makes me happy, but I also definitely want to include what you guys want! I so appreciate the supportive folks who've cheered me on as I wrote this story!


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